All The Small Things
by Potato19
Summary: Set the summer after OOTP. Hermione gets struck by Dolohov's Curse in the Department of Mysteries and that sparks a change in the relationship between Harry and Hermione. They help each other deal with the grief, finding solace in each other and, eventually, love. Rated M for mentions of child abuse, some swearing and mild adult situations.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I, by no means, claim to own anything remotely related to the Harry Potter Universe. No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

 _"Dark and difficult times lie ahead. Soon we must all face the choice between what is right and what is easy." - Albus Dumbledore_

 **Chapter One**

Hermione Granger would know Hogwarts Infirmary just about anywhere. For the average fifth year student, she had spent a little too much time within its four walls. So, when she opened her eyes, she knew exactly where she was and, she supposed, why. She took a deep, painful breath, as she tried to keep the panic at bay. She was fine, surely. She wouldn't still be at Hogwarts if she wasn't.

She took a moment to survey herself, starting from the top of her head and worked her way downwards. She had a headache, but it wasn't nearly as painful as the stinging pain in her chest. Even breathing was uncomfortable. There was a mild ache in her right elbow. Her wand arm. Her wand!

She could worry about that later. There was something in her hand; something warm and soft.

It took her a moment to realise that someone was holding her hand. A slight twist of her neck and her eyes settled on the guilty party. Harry Potter was sitting in a chair, his head resting on the edge of her bed. He was obviously asleep, his glasses adorably askew and his lips slightly parted. His hair was more of a mess than usual, which actually made her smile.

Hermione couldn't help but just watch him for a moment. He was here. He was alive. The Death Eaters couldn't have won then. Even as he slept, she noted that there was nothing peaceful about the look on his face, and she didn't think that his position was particularly comfortable. His back had to be aching.

"Harry," she whispered, squeezing his hand with her own. It was enough for his eyes to flutter open and settle on her slight smile. He immediately sat up and straightened his glasses, having taken his hand back. He ran a hand through his unruly hair and gave her a lopsided smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Hermione," he said, looking more surprised than anything. "You're awake?" he asked stupidly, and then shook his head at his own words. "I mean, of course you're awake. I can see that... but you're _awake_."

Hermione just continued to smile at him, finding that she was relieved that he was the one she woke up to. For just a while, she could forget that she didn't know what happened after she was struck. She found that she didn't actually want Harry to be the one to tell her.

"How long have I been out?" she asked, her voice much lower than she anticipated.

Harry leaned forward to get close enough to hear her properly. "A few days. We've been waiting on you, _Sleeping Beauty_."

Hermione didn't know why she blushed but she couldn't help it. Perhaps it was because he was so close, or was it the way he was looking at her?

Without prompting, Harry started to tell her what had happened to their friends. "Ron was in here for a while," he explained. "Neville and Ginny were also hurt but Madam Pomfrey fixed them up rather easily. Luna is fine as well but nobody likes getting Stunned by a Death Eater." He even shuddered at the last part. Then as if a switch was flipped, Harry suddenly grew serious. "I'm sorry, Hermione."

Hermione reached for his hand. "It's not your fault, Harry."

He pressed his lips together. "I don't quite believe that," he admitted to her. "But I'm trying. Ron says that everything that happened probably would have happened anyway, in some form or another."

Hermione squeezed his hand encouragingly. "So we're all okay then?"

Harry stiffened and Hermione definitely noticed.

"Harry?"

He swallowed. "You could have died, Hermione," he almost cried, his eyes filling with unshed tears. "I could have lost you too."

Her breath hitched at that. "Too?"

Harry sat back and took deep breaths. Darkness clouded his features. He couldn't say it out loud, even if he knew she had to know. He shook his head as he stood up. "I should get Madam Pomfrey," he said, forcing the overwhelming emotion aside. "She said to get her when you woke up. I'll be right back."

Hermione could only watch in worried suspense as he hurried away from her. Gingerly, she tried to sit up but quickly abandoned her attempts. It hurt a little too much, and she was sure that the resident MediWitch would have words to say if she noticed.

Harry did not return with Madam Pomfrey. While she was tending to Hermione, he slipped out of the Infirmary after casting one last pained look at Hermione.

The young witch could only speculate about what had happened because even Madam Pomfrey refused to tell her anything that didn't pertain to her own injuries. By the time the MediWitch was done with her, Hermione had taken about a dozen potions, with countless many scheduled for the days to come.

Hermione held her groan in until Madam Pomfrey was out of earshot. It would be so much better if the potions didn't taste like death in a bottle.

Hermione must have fallen asleep because the next thing she knew, she was being woken by hushed voices. She didn't open her eyes immediately, choosing just to listen to her friends.

"When did Madam Pomfrey say the Sleeping Potion would wear off?" Ron asked, his impatience getting the better of him.

"Whenever it wears off," Ginny replied hotly. "If you don't want to wait, you can just go."

Ron let out a breath, clearly affronted. "I was just asking," he defended himself. "I want to see Hermione as well, you know?"

"Why? So you can tell her you like her?" Ginny almost sang.

"I do not!" he huffed. "What would make you think such a thing?"

"Did you see your face when they brought her into the Infirmary?"

Ron cleared his throat. "Gin, whatever my face was revealing had to do with Sirius," he said sadly. "Not Hermione."

"So you weren't worried about her?"

Ron gasped. "Of course I was. She's my best friend. I would always worry about her."

"But not as much as Harry?"

"What on earth are you going on about now?" he asked. "What about Harry?"

Ginny didn't respond to her brother's question. "Where is Harry, by the way?"

Ron didn't press his sister, surprisingly. "Dumbledore wanted to see him. Harry seemed quite reluctant to go but he wouldn't tell me why."

"Maybe Dumbledore wants to talk about Sirius," Ginny offered. "I wouldn't want to go either, if that were the case."

Ron sighed. "I can't even believe he's dead, Gin."

That made Hermione's eyes snap open. "What?" she asked and, despite her obvious discomfort, she forced herself to sit up. "What? What?"

"Hermione!" Ron exclaimed, clearly surprised. His face broke into a wide smile, before it quickly disappeared. "How much of that did you hear?"

"Enough," she said dismissively. "What about Sirius?"

Ron looked down at his hands, his own expression turning to the pained one that Harry had been wearing when he left earlier. "The Order arrived at the Ministry to help," Ron started to explain. "Bellatrix hit Sirius with a Curse, and he fell through the Veil."

Hermione just stared at the redhead, trying to make sense of what she was being told. Sirius, dead? No. It couldn't be.

Ginny continued. "Harry almost went through after him, but Professor Lupin had to hold him back."

"You-Know-Who also showed up," Ron went on, preferring not to talk about his best friend's godfather. "Harry and Dumbledore fought him. The Minister saw, and they reprinted Harry's interview with Rita Skeeter. Nobody can deny his return now."

So much had happened, Hermione couldn't even believe it. Oh Harry. "What about the Prophecy?" Hermione asked, not wanting to talk about Sirius either.

"Shattered," Ginny answered simply. "Thankfully, he didn't get it."

Bless the little victories. She wanted to lie back down to ease the pain in her ribs but she had to ask one more, very important, question. Her conscience wouldn't let her rest if she didn't. "How is Harry? Truly?"

Ron and Ginny exchanged a look. It was Ron who finally responded. "He's been quiet," he said. "I don't know how much he told you..."

"Not much."

Ron sighed. "You-Know-Who tried to possess him, Hermione. He wanted Dumbledore to have to kill Harry to stop it, but of course Harry managed to fight him off all on his own."

"The Occlumency?"

"The grief," Ron said, painfully.

"And the love," Ginny added, making a point of looking at Hermione.

Hermione swallowed, clearly feeling uncomfortable under Ginny's heated gaze. "What else?" she managed to ask.

"We've been talking quite a bit about Sirius, but there's something he's hiding. I don't want to ask him about it, in case he stops talking entirely," Ron explained. "He still thinks it's his fault. This is Harry we're talking about so it's going to take some time."

"We'll get him through it," Hermione said strongly, almost daring the Universe to say otherwise.

Nobody would dare defy her.

* * *

That same evening, Harry visited Hermione after a somewhat tense dinner in the Great Hall. Ron had assured him that she would be under the effect of a Sleeping Potion so he was pleasantly surprised to find her still awake. Of course, his Hermione was reading a book of some sort, which immediately made him smile despite the looming darkness.

"Hey you," Hermione said as soon as she spotted him.

"Does Madam Pomfrey know you're being a terrible patient?" he asked, slipping into the chair he had claimed earlier.

Hermione closed her book. "I learn from the best," she said softly, risking a smile. "You've taught me well, Harry Potter."

He tilted his head, unable to see the humour in this moment. "I don't like that you're in here," he said, shifting his chair closer to her. "It's not supposed to be like this."

"How is it supposed to be, Harry? You instead?"

He looked at her for a moment, blinking innocently. How could she be so calm about such a thing? Didn't she know what it had been like for him, not knowing if or when she would ever wake up? "I can't lose you, Hermione," he said after a while. "I mean, I don't know how you do it."

"Do what?"

"Sit here and just wait while I'm in that bed." He shook his head. "It's horrible. Is it always like this? I couldn't eat; I couldn't sleep. Merlin, I couldn't even breathe sometimes. Not knowing that you're okay, that you're completely healthy... I just, I can't..."

Hermione wanted to hug him; _needed_ to hug him. She made a move to get up off the bed, but Harry put out his hands to stop her.

"No," he said, worry clouding his features. "Stop that. What are you doing? You're hurt, Hermione."

She pouted. "Then you come to me, Harry."

"I can't do that," he said, shaking his head. "If you hug me; if you so much as touch me, I won't be able to keep it in anymore. I'm just about holding it together. I can't... If you hold me, I'll break down, and there's no telling what will happen."

"Harry," she said strongly, her heart breaking. "Come here."

He didn't move.

Hermione started to move again, indicating that she would go to him if he didn't go to her. She was going to be painfully stubborn about this and he was quick to realise it.

"Okay," Harry finally said, relenting. "Okay, okay, just don't move. I'm coming."

Hermione hid her relief well. It was starting to hurt to sit up. She did manage to move to one side of the bed and patted the empty space beside her, making Harry just stare at her in utter confusion.

"Hermione?"

"Harry."

It was the tone of voice with which he could not argue. This was a big decision, he knew, but he didn't even want to think about why. This was Hermione. She would make it all better. He was safe when he was with her.

So, setting his worries aside, he climbed onto the bed and lay down beside her. He shifted onto his side to look at her, and she immediately put her arms around him, burying her face in the crook of his neck.

Harry immediately tensed.

"I'm sorry about Sirius," she whispered into his ear, warm breath against his skin. It sent a shiver down his spine. "I know my words don't mean much, if anything at all, but I'm still sorry."

It was enough for Harry. It didn't have much to do with her actual words but to do with the tenderness in her tone. He immediately hugged her back, practically clutched at her. He slipped an arm under her and buried his own face in the crook of her neck. He was trembling.

"You'll be okay, Harry," she said softly. "You're going to be okay."

"Because I've got you?" he mumbled.

"Exactly."

Harry pulled her closer and Hermione tightened her grip on him, determined not to let go until she had to.

"There's something I have to tell you," Harry said, his voice barely audible as his breath tickled her neck. "I want to tell you. I have to tell you, but I'm not quite ready yet." The truth was, really, Harry didn't want to give her an excuse to run, even if it was the safest thing for her to do.

People around him tended to get hurt. Or die. He'd seen both happen just in the last few days.

"Don't rush," Hermione assured him. "I promise I'm not going anywhere."

And that was the moment Harry started to cry. He couldn't hold it in anymore, and he didn't want to. He was safe here. He was safe with Hermione.

Absently, she started to run her hands up and down his back, soothing him. "You're okay, Harry," she cooed repeatedly, her heart breaking at the sound of his pained sobs.

A part of Harry was convinced that he didn't deserve her comfort. He had to be alone in this. It was his fault that Sirius was dead and so he had to suffer through it by himself. But he was too selfish to let go of her. Despite his own twisted thoughts, he needed her, sometimes more than everyone else.

Now that Sirius was gone, who else did he have anyway? Who did he want to have?

"I'm sorry," he said again.

Hermione pulled away from him so that she could look at him. She brought her hands up to his red face and wiped away his tears. "That is the last time you apologise, do you hear me?" she instructed, her brown eyes meeting his piercing green. "I won't hear it again, are we clear?"

He nodded dumbly.

"It's okay to feel guilt, Harry," she said softly, her fingers caressing his cheeks. "Listen to what Ron said though. Believe that, despite our best efforts, sometimes things just find a way of happening. Any one of us could have done one thing differently, and that one change in the timeline could have saved Sirius. So if you're going to blame yourself, you may as well blame me as well."

"But I don't blame you."

"Then my work here is done," she said, risking a smile. Then she did something she had never done before. She reached up and kissed his forehead, which warmed him from the inside out.

"Thank you," he whispered, placing his own kiss on her forehead.

Hermione felt her heart jolt at the contact. His lips were surprisingly warm and, as if she was suddenly allowed to, she relaxed into him. Harry enclosed her in his arms again as she settled her head just under his chin. He could smell her shampoo, something flowery that he couldn't place, and it was such a pleasant distraction that he found himself closing his eyes.

Hermione closed her eyes as well, and she snuggled further into him. It was so comfortable being in his arms that, for a moment, she forgot that she was Hermione Granger and he was Harry Potter.

But she quickly remembered, and her eyes snapped open. "Uh, Harry?"

"Hmm."

"Madam Pomfrey is going to hex you if she finds us," she pointed out.

He didn't move. "Why do you think _I'm_ the one she's going to hex, and not you?"

"I'm the innocent patient, remember?"

"You're not _that_ innocent."

Again, Hermione blushed and she was mightily glad he couldn't see her face. "Do you want to get hexed?"

"Do you want me to go?"

She didn't respond.

"Because I don't mind getting hexed if you want me to stay."

The truth really was that she didn't want him to go. It was too quiet and too gloomy being alone in the Infirmary; she didn't know how Harry had done it so often. No wonder he was so generous with the use of his Cloak of Invisibility.

But even she acknowledged that that wasn't the true reason she needed him to stay. It wasn't about being alone, but about being with _him_. This was Harry, and he was holding her in a way that she'd never dreamed he would. She didn't want to let go of this moment.

"Do you want me to stay, Hermione?" he asked, pressing his chin against the top of her head to get her attention, or make a point. She didn't know, but she liked it.

"Stay until I fall asleep," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "I won't be responsible for what she does to you after that."

He chuckled and the vibrations of his body seemed to transmit to hers, making her smile. "It's good you said that," he said, holding her tighter and breathing her in. "Because I wasn't going anywhere."

"Should have known. You've always been stubborn."

"So have you."

"Quite the pair we are, aren't we?"

Harry made a sound of affirmation, which really signalled the end of their conversation.

"Goodnight, Harry," she whispered.

"Goodnight, Hermione."

And, as Hermione drifted to sleep, her last thought was: yes, they really were quite the pair.

* * *

When Harry returned to the fifth year dormitory the following morning, Ron was already awake. He was sitting on the edge of his own bed, absently staring at his best friend's still-made bed. It seemed odd that Harry wasn't around and he wondered if he'd failed his friend by not making sure he got to bed safely.

Ron practically jumped when Harry entered the room. "Hey, mate, where have you been?" he asked.

Harry made a beeline for the end of his bed. "With Hermione."

"All night?"

"I fell asleep," he admitted, bending to retrieve a set of fresh robes from his trunk.

"And Madam Pomfrey didn't catch you?"

Harry smiled at Ron. He actually smiled. "Almost did. It was a right mess trying to get out of there. She was coming out to check on Hermione but she halted in the doorway like she forgot something. Whatever she left behind probably saved me from a Stinger."

Ron just nodded, smiling at his friend's smile. Trust Hermione to get him to smile. "How is Hermione, by the way?"

Harry felt heat rise up his neck as he thought of the previous night, holding her close and kissing her forehead. It meant something, he was sure, but now was not the time to analyse that. "We didn't get much time to talk this morning," he managed to say. It was the truth, really, because Harry had all but fallen out of bed that morning. His side was still aching from hitting the hard ground. "But she seems to be doing fine. You said she was complaining about her millions of potions?"

"Something like ten a day," Ron said, visibly shuddering. "Can you imagine?"

Harry definitely could.

"Do you think Madam Pomfrey will release her in time to catch the Express?"

"I hope so," Harry said, gathering his toiletries. "I'm going to head for a shower. You go on to breakfast. I'll catch up."

"Are you sure?"

Harry stopped and regarded his friend. "I'm sure, Ron, but thank you. I'll be down in a bit."

Once Ron was out of sight, Harry felt the energy from before leave him. His smile faded and his shoulders dropped. When he was alone, the memories came back swinging. Harry doubted he would ever forget watching the light leave Sirius' eyes, or hearing Hermione's 'Oh' before she collapsed from Dolohov's Curse.

The Curse that could have killed her, had it been spoken aloud.

Harry shuddered at the thought. Losing Hermione in any way was definitely not an option.

Harry took his time in the shower, even though he initially didn't want to wash the Hermione smell off of him. It was comforting and grounding. In light of everything that had happened, he knew that she was now his home-base; his sounding board.

Only she could possibly handle all that Harry Potter had to offer.

Sure, there were the Weasleys, and he absolutely loved them, but even he had to admit that they had ideals about Harry Potter that he wouldn't ever live up to.

With Hermione, it was different. She could handle 'just Harry.' She didn't even blink at all the small things.

But, it was the big things he worried about. There were things, so many things, that he held inside. He had to keep them inside; he had to keep the darkness he was feeling hidden.

He couldn't do that to her. She didn't have to see what was within him if she didn't have to, and that was his vow.

When he was finally dressed to face the day, Harry did not go to the Great Hall. Instead, he made his way back to the Infirmary, consciously needing to see Hermione before he could even deem his day having begun. He wasn't even the least bit ashamed of it. She would make everything better. She already made him feel safe.

Only, Hermione wasn't in the Infirmary when he arrived. The panic he felt was only reduced by the fact that her book was still sitting beside her bed. Hermione would never have left without it, surely.

Resolving to wait it out, Harry sat down in his usual chair and lost himself in his thoughts. There was a lot going on in his mind but, really, all he could focus on was the feel of his female best friend in his arms. He'd never really held her like that before and he couldn't shake the feeling that he wanted to do it again. And again and again.

Harry had to wait close to fifteen minutes for Hermione to emerge from wherever she went. The bathroom, he deduced. Her hair was still damp and hanging loose around her shoulders when she approached him, still using a towel to dry it. To Harry, she looked completely refreshed, as if she hadn't faced a near-fatal Curse just days before.

If he were really being honest with himself, he would say that she looked rather beautiful. This was Hermione he was seeing; just her, nothing less, nothing more. And she was perfect.

"Morning, you," Hermione said, eyeing him rather curiously. "Have you had breakfast yet?"

He shook his head. "Have you?"

"I'm just about to. Will you join me?"

Harry merely nodded.

Hermione sat down on the edge of her bed just across from him. She was tempted to ask him what he was thinking but she supposed that it was best to allow him to tell her in his own time. It wouldn't do well to push him. For now, at least.

"Madam Pomfrey was quite suspicious this morning," she said instead. "Apparently it's unusual for patients to sleep on one side of a single bed."

Harry had to smile at that. "Fascinating."

"One would say."

"Have you got an imaginary boyfriend you're not telling us about?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "If I had a boyfriend, Harry; you would definitely be the first to know."

He cleared his throat. "Umm, and why is that exactly?"

"Because you're my best friend," she said easily. "We tell each other everything, don't we?"

Harry put a hand on her knee, his fingers warm through the denim of her jeans. "Eventually, yeah, we do."

Hermione placed one of her own hands over his and absently rubbed her thumb over its top. "Why aren't you in the Great Hall, Harry?" she felt she had to ask.

"I wanted to see you," he answered easily.

Hermione dropped her head to hide her sudden blush. "You're not hiding, are you?"

"If I were hiding, Hermione, then I wouldn't be here with you, now would I?"

She looked at him then, searching his face for what he was truly feeling. He had a habit of keeping things in, but she'd learned to read him over the years. The way he was unafraid to meet her gaze told her that he was telling the truth. He wasn't hiding. He just wanted to see her. Her blush only increased at that.

Harry shifted his hand off her knee and entwined his fingers with hers. He tugged ever so slightly to get her attention. "I feel like I'm drowning," he said softly, almost whispering.

Hermione didn't say anything, realising that, if she did, he would stop talking.

"Bad things are going to keep happening, aren't they?" he asked rhetorically. "The War has officially begun. These are going to be dark and difficult times, aren't they? They're going to try to kill us, and we're going to have to kill them. People will get hurt and people will die." He blinked a few times before he lifted his head to look at her. "I won't survive if you are ever one of those people."

"I won't be."

He turned incredulous quite quickly. "How can you even say that? Look at where you are, Hermione!"

She squeezed his fingers. "And look at where you are," she said. "I won't pretend to know what's going to happen in the future, Harry, but this is what I do know. You survive. Somehow, you always survive. I don't know if it's pure luck or you're just some other kind of wizard, but you always tend to defy death. And, seeing as I go where you go, I will as well."

Harry just stared at her for a moment before he started to laugh.

"What?" she asked innocently, unsure of what she said that was so funny. However unintentional, hearing him laugh made her feel a powerful sense of accomplishment. It was a wonderful sound, really.

"You really are very stubborn, aren't you?"

She shrugged.

"You do realise that your little explanation has done nothing to ease my worries about your safety, right?"

She shrugged once more, absently tugging on his fingers again.

Harry stood up and moved to stand right in front of her, the tops of his thighs touching her knees. With his free hand, he tucked some loose hair behind her ear and smiled ever so slightly. She really was quite beautiful, just like this. Right up close.

Hermione couldn't keep her breathing steady. He was standing so close. What was he doing?

"To keep you safe, I have to push you away," he said, making her frown. "It's what I know I have to do, Hermione. But I can't bring myself to do it. I don't want to. I don't even think I could, even if I tried. I watched you get hit by that Curse and the entire world stopped. Something happened to you and it felt like it happened to me.

" _Everything_ has changed. What I feel about you; it's changed. It is so much more and I am trying to make sense of all of it. Because I really don't know what this all means but I have to know that you'll always be safe, and the only way I know how to do that is if you're with me."

Hermione couldn't find any words to say. What exactly was he trying to tell her?

He slipped his hand through her hair until he was cupping the back of her neck, his fingers soft on her skin. He would protect her, no matter what. It was decided. The most dangerous place for her was at his side... and yet, it was probably also the safest. Harry Potter was the most guarded wizard, second to the Minister of Magic.

Hermione took hold of the front of his robes in her right hand, fisting the fabric. This was a very important moment for them. Looking back, Hermione would probably call it the moment that changed everything about her relationship with Harry Potter.

Harry leaned forward and kissed her forehead just like the night before, automatically making her eyes close and her breath hitch.

Only it was different this time. The previous night's kiss came from a place of comfort.

This kiss, this one was a promise.


	2. Chapter 2

_"I'm not going home. Not really." - Harry Potter_

 **Chapter Two**

Even though Hermione thought about their moment quite often - okay, practically all the time - she did not bring it up to Harry again. It was something that she knew they couldn't talk about; not with everything that was already going on.

Once Hermione was released from the Infirmary, things happened quite quickly. The Ministry Six were debriefed by Dumbledore and the Head Auror, Rufus Scrimgeour. Harry didn't say much at all, which was understandable. Hermione had to explain just what had happened to Dolores Umbridge, which seemed to surprise everyone but Harry. Somehow, she believed that, even if he hadn't been with her, he wouldn't have been that surprised at all.

Harry knew Hermione better than anyone. Her mind worked in ways only he could understand. Barely. What she did know was that he would have done the same thing without thought, if their roles had been reversed.

For Hermione, and she hoped everyone else, anything and everything could be excused if it kept Harry from harm. She would do anything to keep him safe and it was best that they all knew the truth of it.

All too soon, and a little too late, it was time to go home. Home. Harry practically scoffed at the thought. Because of his attitude, it took Harry much longer to actually get around to packing for the Express. He was still busy when Ron headed up to their dormitory to fetch him for the End of Year Feast.

Ron was worryingly surprised to find Harry standing in the middle of the room, staring at the two-way mirror Sirius had given him. "Harry?" Ron sounded, getting his friend's attention.

It took Harry quite a while to look away from the mirror. His eyes settled on his red-headed best friend and he just about managed a smile, despite the obvious pain in his eyes. "I thought I would try it," he said sadly. "Nothing."

Ron moved towards him. "At least now you know."

"I guess."

Ron took the mirror from Harry and set it down in his best friend's trunk. Ron might have even thrown it out of sight if he didn't think Harry would hex him. "You better hurry up and get your packing done, or Hermione's going to insist on doing it for you. And you know how she packs things with _order_." He faked a shudder that made Harry smile.

Or, truthfully, he was smiling at merely the mention of Hermione. Harry wondered what Ron would think if he ever knew that. Or worse, if Hermione knew.

Ron looked at his friend again. "Hermione mentioned that you had a talk with Nearly Headless Nick. Did that help?"

Harry didn't know if he was actually okay with the fact that Hermione had told Ron about his visit with the House Ghost. It made him wonder if she would tell him about the Prophecy as well, if ever he told her. Their not-so-subtle management of his feelings was starting to get a little irritating, even though he did appreciate it. "Sort of," Harry admitted. "Not really."

"Sorry, mate."

"It's okay. I wasn't expecting much anyway. I think I've just about accepted that he's gone." He closed his eyes for a moment. "It's harder than I thought."

Ron put a hand on his shoulder. It wasn't the same as being hugged by Hermione but Harry still appreciated it.

"Thank you, Ron. For everything."

Ron might have played it down by saying something funny but he decided against it. Now was not the time for humour. "Let's get you packed then. The Feast awaits us."

"I bet you're looking forward to it."

Ron grinned. "When have I never looked forward to a Feast, Potter?"

By the time they did make it down to the Great Hall, it was almost full. Every eye turned towards them and Harry just managed to ignore it as they headed straight towards where Hermione was sitting at the Gryffindor table. Harry immediately slipped in right beside her, scooting in closer than he usually did.

Ron sat down on the other side of the table beside Neville. Ginny and Luna were sitting further along the table with a few other fourth years.

It took Hermione only twenty seconds to ask the question Ron was sure would have taken her ten on any other day. "Have you both finished packing?"

Ron winked at Harry, which made the raven-haired wizard smirk knowingly.

Harry bumped Hermione with his shoulder. "We're done, yes, _Professor Granger._ "

She bumped him back but she wasn't even mad. Not when it was Harry who was teasing her, with that wistful look in his eye. She'd never seen it before but she was certain it was a look reserved for only her.

Ron gaped at Hermione. "That's it? He calls you Professor Granger and nothing…? I do it, and I bet you hex me."

"Harry's nicer to me than you are," Hermione said seriously. She held her pose for as long as she possibly could before her face broke out into a wide smile and she giggled.

Ron shook his head. "Oh, I see then. That's how it is, ey?"

Hermione reached across the table and squeezed one of Ron's hands. Harry watched them carefully, particularly for Ron's reaction to being touched by Hermione. It didn't really seem to register with him at all.

If it were Harry - and he definitely wished it was - it would have been an entire experience for him. A surge of some unknown feeling flowed through him and he could barely contain himself.

Which was why, when she returned to her normal position, Harry took hold of her hand under the table. It instantly calmed him, surprising that he hadn't actually felt that anxious before. He interlaced their fingers and rested their hands on his thigh, mainly because there was little to no space between them.

Hermione looked at him for a moment, silently asking the question. Her heart was racing but she felt surprisingly calm.

Harry just squeezed her hand, his gaze penetrating hers. He wasn't sure what exactly he was telling her with his eyes but he just knew she understood.

No words were required.

They held hands right through Dumbledore's End-of-Year speech, during which he somberly reiterated the fact that Voldemort was, indeed, back. Heads turned to look Harry's way but Hermione leaned into him, practically shielding him from their prying eyes with her body.

She was close enough for Harry to smell her hair again and he still found himself trying to figure out what it was. He would have to ask her at some point. When they were alone, he reasoned. They were still things they definitely needed to talk about. Important things.

Sometimes, Harry reasoned, you _did_ need words.

* * *

Harry was sitting in the corner of the compartment, staring out the window at the trees rolling by, when Hermione arrived after her shortened patrol. She stood in the doorway for a moment, just watching him. She couldn't quite figure out his facial expression, which was slightly worrying. Whenever she couldn't read his emotions, it usually meant that he was conflicted about something.

She didn't know how she would feel if his emotions were confused about her. Things were changing, she knew, but she would have felt better if he was _sure_.

It took Harry quite a while to notice that Hermione was standing in the doorway. His eyes settled on her and, for a moment, he didn't react. He was looking at her but he wasn't really seeing her.

"Harry?" she asked quietly, breaking his reverie.

His eyes eventually focused and he gave her an embarrassed smile. "Do you need help with your trunk?"

She stepped into the compartment and closed the door behind her, shutting out the entire train. "I shrunk it," she explained as she set Crookshanks' case down on the seat near the door. "It's in my pocket."

"Genius."

"Surprising, isn't it?"

"I don't think they'll be a day when you don't surprise me, Hermione."

It was as if he was intent on saying things that would make her blush. She hid her burning cheeks by sitting down right next to him and releasing Crookshanks from his case. The half-kneazle crawled into her lap and she scratched him behind his ears.

"How was your patrol?" Harry asked.

"Eventful."

Even though he was mildly curious, he didn't pry. He didn't really want to know. He didn't much care for Prefect things, now that he knew Dumbledore had snubbed him the position because of his misdirected views of what Harry _needed_. "Why isn't Ron with you?" he asked instead.

"He's sitting with Neville, Ginny and Luna for a bit," she informed him. "They'd come here if he didn't, and we both decided that you don't need the extra questions."

Harry turned his head to look at her for a moment. "Is that what we call Harry-management?" he asked, managing a smile.

"Did we overstep?"

"No," he answered quickly. "I just, well, I don't want our friends to worry about how they act around me."

"They don't," she tried to reassure him. "Maybe I just selfishly wanted you all to myself."

Harry just looked at her. He'd spent several hours trying to pinpoint just what had changed between him and Hermione, because something definitely had. He knew it had something to do with her almost dying - and his seeing it actually happen. If he had any say in the matter, he probably wouldn't let her out of his sight ever again.

Hermione met his gaze, mainly to gauge his response to her words. He didn't look at all alarmed, which was a pleasant surprise. It warmed her from the inside out, making her feel entirely new things.

Harry bumped her gently with his shoulder, and Crookshanks shot him a hateful look, which the wizard just managed to ignore. "You're going to miss me this summer, aren't you?"

She huffed in annoyance. Why did he have to remind her? "I expect you to write every day."

His eyes widened. "Every day?"

"Every single day."

He grinned at her. It was the type of smile to bring about world peace. "Okay, babe."

Her nostrils flared but she was too surprised to be annoyed. He called her babe! She cleared her throat, composing herself. "Really?"

He seemed completely unnerved. "I'm so used to talking to you every day anyway, so I don't think it will be any different. You'll write back every day as well, right?"

"Of course. Even when I'm away at my grandparents, I'll write. I doubt my summer is going to be all that exciting anyway."

Harry made a point of looking at her, his gaze somewhat heated. "I can assure you, Hermione Granger; this could yet turn into quite the exciting summer for both of us."

She swallowed. "And why do you say that?"

He raised an eyebrow, almost leering at her. "I think that you're smart enough to figure it out."

Hermione pressed her lips together. What could she even say to that? That was touching on something they'd yet to discuss and probably wouldn't for quite some time. It was as if they had made a mutual decision, without uttering a word.

Silently, Harry moved to put an arm around her and she leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. For a while, neither of them said anything. There was nothing to say that couldn't be said at another time. They were content to just _be_.

"Say, Hermione, what shampoo do you use?" Harry eventually asked, breaking their comfortable silence.

"What?"

He laughed nervously. "I like the way your hair smells, but I can't seem to place it."

She might have lifted her head to look at him but she was too comfortable to move. "Has anyone ever told you that you're rather strange, Mr Potter?"

"You would be the first."

"I feel special."

He squeezed her shoulders. "You are pretty special."

Hermione could only marvel at whatever it was that was happening between them. She wondered if they would actually acknowledge it before they disembarked the train. She doubted it. For some reason, she just knew that they weren't yet ready. "It's peonies, Harry."

"Peonies?"

"The type of flower in my shampoo. It's a mixture of peonies and almonds actually. If you're really interested."

"I'm definitely interested," he assured her, his eyes closing. "I'm trying desperately to memorise it."

Hermione closed her own eyes, suppressing the glee that was threatening to erupt from within her. Did he even realise what his words could do to a teenage girl? To her?

All too soon, at least according to Hermione, they were pulling into King's Cross Station. She didn't want to have arrived just yet. She didn't want to move from Harry's side; from his embrace. Whatever that meant.

Harry appeared equally put out by the halting of the train. For a while, neither of them moved. Whatever awaited them outside of this compartment wasn't worth ending their moment.

They could hear the other students disembarking and Harry was forced into opening his eyes. He stared at Hermione for a moment, the sight of her the calm before the storm.

Harry's eyes drifted from the top of Hermione's head to a scene happening just outside the train. "Oh no," he muttered.

Hermione immediately sat up. "What? What?"

"Look," he said, pointing.

Hermione audibly gasped at the sight of Professor Lupin and Moody rushing across the Platform. They were clearly on a mission of some sort that she suspected wouldn't end well for Harry. When did it ever?

"We should go," she rushed, standing up immediately.

Harry fought the urge to pull her back down and into his lap. It was almost violent, his sudden desire to hold her as tightly to him as possible. He just didn't want to be out of her presence. He would be left alone with his spiraling thoughts and that was dangerous.

Harry could feel things happening to him that he knew he wouldn't be able to control. He was scared of them. It was easier and so much better to focus on whatever he was feeling for this perfect girl.

Hermione regarded him for a moment, seeing his face contort slightly. She put a hand in his shoulder, making him look at her. "What's wrong, Harry?"

Harry put a hand over hers, as if he could somehow draw strength from her. Without responding to her question, he slowly stood up, never releasing her hand. "I'm fine, Hermione."

She gave him a look that clearly told him that she didn't believe him.

He removed her hand from his shoulder and brought her knuckles up to his mouth. Without looking at her, he placed a gentle kiss on her skin, allowing his lips to linger.

Hermione almost melted right on the spot.

Harry brought their hands down to his side but he didn't let go. He couldn't. "We should go," he said simply.

All she could really do was allow him to lead her out of the compartment and eventually off of the train. Harry did eventually release her hand but Hermione still felt slightly dazed. She might have even laughed at her reaction to it all. All he'd really done was kiss her hand, and yet she felt as if he had professed her love for her or something equally eye-opening.

Well, hadn't he? In some way?

He'd definitely let her know of his intentions. Nobody did that to their best friend. No matter how close they'd been before, Harry had never kissed her knuckles. There was something deeply personal about it. Even prophetic. Perhaps he was right… this would turn out to be a very exciting summer for the both of them after all.

"Hermione?" Harry sounded once they were off the Platform and back in the Muggle world. He brought them to a stop so he could look at her one last time. He wished that he were capable of taking a mental snapshot so that he could remember her just like this.

She took a moment to gather her thoughts enough to look at him. "Hmm?"

"Everything okay?"

She smiled at him. "Everything is perfect."

He let out a relieved breath. He'd been slightly worried when she hadn't spoken. "Your parents are waiting for you."

"I know."

"You should go."

She just nodded, but she didn't move. This moment was important for them. She didn't know why but she just knew that it was. "Are you going to be okay?" she asked, somewhat stupidly.

"I will be," he said softly, sounding unsure.

It broke her resolve for a moment and she threw her arms around him, crushing his bones. _This_ was it. She released him and she just knew that this was it. _He_ was it for her. "Take care of yourself, Harry," she said, her eyes blazing. "And write to me as soon as you arrive, okay? The second you get there, promise me?"

He nodded dumbly.

She gave him a dazzling smile that made his stomach do a flip-flop. For a moment, they just stared at each other, the entire world falling away. "I'll be thinking about you," she whispered, giving him one last parting hug. Before she fully released him, she kissed his cheek.

He blushed viciously. "I should probably go," he said softly. "Before, you know, Moony hexes Uncle Vernon into oblivion."

"I wouldn't mind seeing that."

He grinned at her. "I'm going to miss you."

"Don't forget to write. As soon as you get back. Promise me."

"I promise."

Hermione wanted to hug him again but she stopped herself. "Okay, you should go first. I don't think I can walk away right now."

Harry just watched her for a moment, wondering if she realised what she said. From the unflinching look in her eyes, she definitely did. "Talk to you soon, Hermione," he said, stepping forward and kissing her forehead. He didn't even care if anyone saw.

Nobody did.

* * *

As Hermione made him promise, Harry wrote his very first letter as soon he was settled in his room at the Dursleys'. His Uncle was still fuming over what had transpired at the Station but Harry couldn't quite bring himself to care.

Though, he did wish that he'd known about the ambush beforehand. He probably would have vetoed the decision, purely because there was no way to get through to Uncle Vernon. His skull was too thick. If anything, his protectors had just made things worse. And, judging by the resounding sound of locks turning on his door, he knew that to be true.

Harry took parchment and a quill out of his trunk and sat down at his small desk. The desktop itself was damaged from goodness knows what, but Harry was rather fond of it. In some way, it reminded him of himself in that it had been discarded and so taken in by the Dursleys'. Also, it had scars. Many of them, and he would even go so far as to say that not all of them were physical.

Then he had to remember that it was just a stupid desk.

Harry started to scribble his letter. It wasn't anything special but he doubted Hermione was expecting much more. Harry Potter wasn't a very articulate wizard.

 _Dear Hermione_

 _As promised, here is the first letter of the summer. I made it safely back to Privet Drive, which is always an accomplishment. I should have you know that I'm writing this letter even before I've unpacked. Count yourself pretty special. I'd only do something like that for you._

 _I hope you made it home all right. Thank you for all you've done for me and the DA this year. I know I don't tell you enough but I intend to change that. I have to let you know that I really do appreciate you._

 _Keep Hedwig with you until you can write back. If your parents don't mind, that is. I'll make her promise to behave._

 _Your resident troublemaker,_

 _Harry_

Harry reread the letter once before sealing it and sending Hedwig off on what would surely become a familiar route in the weeks to come. Once her majestic white wings were out of sight, Harry started to unpack. He did things painfully slowly, needing to draw out the activity as much as possible. He didn't want to be alone with his thoughts, with nothing distracting to do.

He'd think of Sirius, and he really didn't want to.

He'd think of what it meant to be back in this prison, and that was the last thing he needed.

Thankfully, by the time he was done with his clothes, Hedwig was back. Harry almost laughed. Trust Hermione to be quick with her reply. He wondered how much time she'd actually spent at home before she responded. Hedwig seemed just about ready to go all over again.

So much for one letter a day.

 _Dearest Harry_

 _Good to know that you actually listen to me sometimes. It's only taken you five years. If I tell you to start on your homework, are you actually going to do it?_

 _We arrived at home about an hour ago. I'm sitting in my room right now, and it all feels so different to me. I think that it's me who's actually changed though. Do you ever feel that when you get back for the summer?_

 _I talked the entire way home; I think my parents' ears are bleeding. Of course, I had to leave several things out about our year, which I think they picked up on. They know I'm not giving them the full story and yet they never ask. I don't think I would be able to lie to them if it ever came down to it._

 _You are very welcome, Harry. Just remember that you don't need to. I already know._

 _Hedwig is always welcome to stay. We even have owl treats. Write me whenever you want, okay? Even if it's about something small. I'm a sucker for all the small things. I want you to know that you're not alone there in Little Whinging, okay? Ron and I, we're here for you._

 _I'll always be here for you._

 _Your resident Professor,_

 _Hermione_

 _P.S. I do count myself pretty special, yes._

Harry found himself smiling, even though some of the content of the letter was rather heavy. She'd never really written about her worries before. And, frankly, she'd never really voiced them either.

Was this all part of their changed relationship? The part they could see but wouldn't fully acknowledge?

Harry sat down at his desk and set a fresh piece of parchment in front of him. He spent a moment thinking about what he would say.

 _Dear Hermione_

 _No, now you're pushing your luck. Though, I suspect I will get started on my homework pretty soon, just to distract myself from thinking about Sirius. That can't be healthy, can it?_

 _The room I sleep in here hasn't ever felt like it was mine, so I don't think I'm the right person to comment on that. But I do know this: you are different to the girl who left for Hogwarts at the beginning of the year. It's only natural for you to feel different. We both do, right?_

 _I can definitely imagine just how your parents feel. When you get on a roll, it's really difficult to get you to stop. Truthfully, it's one of my favourite things about you. Just don't mention that to Ron. He'll never let us live it down._

 _Also not the right person to comment on parents. Are you anticipating their reactions to the truth? Maybe you're not giving them enough credit? Just how much haven't you told them?_

 _Based on Umbridge's teachings, I would suggest not lying. But there's also their safety to keep in mind. The less they know, the safer they'll be. Do what you think is best, Hermione. That's never failed you in the past._

 _Well, it's never failed me._

 _Try not to spoil Hedwig too much, otherwise I'm sure she'll switch her allegiance. I've always known she has a soft spot for my Hermione. I can't possibly write you whenever I want. That would be rude. And didn't you say you were going away for a little bit?_

 _Your resident troublemaker,_

 _Harry_

 _P.S. I will tell you every day just how special you are, Hermione Granger._

Once Harry was satisfied with his lack of spelling mistakes, he sent Hedwig on her way. She hooted in excitement before she disappeared into the orange light. The sun was starting to set, and Harry didn't want the darkness to arrive.

With the dark came the dark thoughts. Even anticipation for Hermione's letter wouldn't be enough to keep the thoughts away. Harry moved to lie flat on his back on his bed and just stared at the ceiling. He couldn't help but think that it was definitely going to be a long summer.

Especially with Vernon Dursley fuming the way he was. Harry was let out of his room once, to visit the bathroom. He rushed his shower, mainly because he didn't want anyone to burst in, demanding he hurry it up. Harry Potter was a little too proud.

Harry's supper wasn't much to brag about but he wasn't going to complain. Hermione would hate his train of thoughts, but he was convinced that this was what he deserved. No matter what anybody said, the truth of the matter was that Voldemort managed to get the better of Harry and now Sirius was dead. It was that simple.

By the time Harry did finally climb into bed, he was exhausted. Emotionally. Focusing on the negatives of his life took quite a bit out of him. He knew he had to work through it, instead of pushing it aside. He could already tell that this summer would be different. It wouldn't be like the last one.

His friends would write him. They wouldn't abandon him to deal with Sirius' death the same way he'd had to deal with Cedric's. Hermione had said it herself. He wasn't alone, even if he was locked away in Little Whinging.

Just as he was drifting to sleep, Hedwig returned, flying through his open window and coming to land on Harry's hip. Before he retrieved the letter from her outstretched leg, he checked the time. It was almost midnight.

The letter, of course, was from Hermione. Harry didn't even contemplate saving it for the morning as he immediately sat up, dislodging Hedwig. She hooted her disapproval as she flew to his desk, and Harry had to mumble an apology.

Harry didn't want to risk turning on the room's light so he reached under his bed and scrambled for an old torch. Once his fingers closed around it, he said a silent prayer that there were still working batteries within.

There were! He carefully opened Hermione's letter, determined to preserve them all. Things were happening between them and he was going to cherish every moment of it.

 _Dearest Harry_

 _So, I considered leaving this letter until the morning, but I wanted to say goodnight to you. If you use your imagination like I know you can, we can just pretend that this letter is the equivalent of a kiss to the forehead. How does that sound?_

 _You'd make me incredibly happy if you did start on your homework. I don't think that it's the worst way to distract yourself from Sirius. There are definitely worse ways. Sometimes you need it, but I strongly advise that you don't make a habit of it. Facing it will help with the mourning in the long run._

 _Do you really think I've changed that much? Individually, I mean. I'm quite enjoying the way you and I have changed. Because we have, haven't we?_

 _I won't tell Ron, no, but I'll definitely tell my parents. I think it's important that they know that at least someone in my life appreciates that particular trait. I think, you and I, we balance each other out quite well. You can be quiet and broody, and I just make up for it. Quite the pair._

 _My parents will definitely react just how you would expect. I tell them nothing concerning Voldemort or our various near-death experiences. I am their only daughter, and they constantly have to face the prospect of the magical world taking me away from them. I would feel like such a fraud if I tried to tell them otherwise, because the truth is that I don't know what's going to happen once I graduate. Have you ever given it any thought?_

 _The biggest thing I'm afraid of, though, is that they will try to keep me from my magic. What if they ever tried to keep me from you, Harry? If they ever made me choose... I don't think they would like my choice._

 _Please never mention that repulsive woman's name ever again! She didn't teach us anything, Harry. But you are right. I have to do what I feel is right. I still have time, right?_

 _I promise I will not attempt to bribe affection from your familiar. Witch's Honour._

 _I mean it. Write whenever. I want to hear from you. And not just because I'm worried about you, which I am. I also just want to talk to you, if that's not too much to ask._

 _We are going away for a bit, yes, but it's just to Norwich to visit my maternal grandparents. My grandfather has been rather poorly these last few months and the doctors are saying that it isn't long to go now, so the family is going to spend two weeks there. I try not to think about it too much. It makes me too sad._

 _But I'll still be able to write. Don't you worry._

 _Your resident Professor,_

 _Hermione_

 _P.S. Would you be offended if I called you adorable?_

Harry turned off the torch and tucked the letter under his pillow. He was already thinking about his reply. From the way things were going, he was sure that the letters were only going to get longer and longer. Not that he cared. He loved talking to her.

Harry rolled over onto his side and closed his eyes. He couldn't have stopped smiling even if he tried. And, if he imagined hard enough, he swore he could feel Hermione's perfect lips against his forehead.


	3. Chapter 3

_"When are you going to get it into your head? We're in this together!" - Hermione Granger_

 **Chapter Three**

For days, Harry and Hermione continued to exchange letters. As predicted, their lengths and frequency increased until they were sending up to ten letters a day, _each_. Quite quickly, they developed a daily schedule that included Harry's chores as well as Hermione's time set aside for her homework.

Harry did his homework at night when Hermione was spending time with her parents. It merely highlighted the contrast in their lives. Hermione found it deeply saddening. She wondered if he ever actually spoke words aloud to anyone during the day. It must have been horrible being alone all day every day with nobody to actually talk to.

Which was why she had the bright idea to call him on the telephone. Harry initially balked at such a notion, knowing full well that his relatives would never allow it. Hermione decided she would mention it again at a different time. It was best to allow him to think about it for a while.

Hermione even expressed concern for Hedwig, but the snowy owl seemed almost too eager to aid in facilitating their budding romance.

Because that was exactly what it was. There was no denying it.

Harry knew he liked her. As much more than just his friend. Through his letters, he had slowly been hinting at it, dropping things casually into his words, wondering if she would say something about it. He'd tell her that he couldn't wait to see her, and that he thought she was beautiful. Which actually turned into quite the heated debate.

Hermione Granger was one stubborn witch.

A beautiful one too.

Harry told her he missed every day. Sometimes more than once. The truth, and he wasn't even ashamed to admit it, was that he missed her constantly. It was new for him, given the way his last summer had gone. He'd literally gone from receiving nothing from Hermione to talking to her incessantly.

Hermione sometimes asked him about Sirius and, slowly, it was becoming easier to talk about his godfather. He could even bring himself to smile at their memories, so few that they were.

Harry admitted to her that he was having terrible nightmares, which worried her to no end. In his letters, she wasn't able to tell just how much about his own grief he was leaving out. His handwriting normally got messier around the times that he touched on his darker thoughts.

Sometimes she wished she could just go and see him. More often than not, she was tempted to ask one of her parents to drive her to Surrey just so she could see him. They definitely wouldn't allow her to drive herself, would they? She just didn't know how well that would be received, by her parents, or even by Harry.

Because, whatever was happening between them, it was happening on paper. Sure, he'd said things to her before they left Hogwarts, but he was a lot more open when he was using a quill instead of his mouth. She could tell he was afraid of something.

Every time he told her he missed her, it was as if he was taking a piece of her, and she was willingly giving it. She trusted him wholeheartedly to keep the pieces safe.

She wondered, at the rate they were going, how long it would take for her to belong to him completely. Not long, she surmised, as she sent off her latest letter. This was Harry Potter she was dealing with.

 _Dearest Harry_

 _This week, I'm going to phone you. I've decided. Use your sneaky Slytherin mind and convince your uncle that it can happen. I need to hear you voice, otherwise I might drive myself crazy._

 _Wow. I just read that over. I sound dramatic. And obsessive._

 _I must really miss you._

 _Anyway, I have been thinking quite a bit about what you said the other day: about not knowing if you actually want to be an Auror, or if it's just what makes sense right now. I know it's what your father wanted to be. Do you think that's why you're drawn towards it?_

 _Personally, and I fully acknowledge my own fears, I don't want you to be an Auror. I don't think I could handle it. With the War, there are things we'll have to do in order to survive. We'll be put in danger because that's what happens in a War. But your willingly being an Auror; your willingly putting yourself in harm's way… I don't think I'm strong enough for that._

 _Kind of like when you play Quidditch. It's as if you make it your life's vocation to pull my heart through the ringer whenever you climb onto a broom. You're quite mean, did you know that?_

 _These are all things to think about, Harry. Because it isn't as if you don't have options. I know the future is relatively uncertain at the moment but it doesn't hurt to think about it sometimes. There are lots of things that you're good at. Quite brilliant at, really._

 _What do you love to do? What could you see yourself doing and loving, possibly for the rest of your life?_

 _You'll be successful in anything you choose to do. I just know it._

 _Your resident Professor,_

 _Hermione_

To Harry, she really did sound like a Professor and he found himself grinning. These were things he could talk to Hermione about. He quite loved that she was unafraid to let him know just what she thought. He hoped that would never go away, no matter what happened in their future.

That very same night, Harry made the decision to bring up the whole telephone thing with his uncle. He'd spent hours trying to figure out the best way to do it but nothing could be proven to be foolproof, so he resorted to just going for it.

What was the worst that could happen?

Harry approached his uncle carefully, choosing this time above all. His uncle was less likely to rush to anger just after he had stuffed his face of his dinner. Experience had taught Harry that valuable lesson.

"Uncle Vernon?" Harry queried softly.

Vernon grunted his response, not even bothered to look the boy's way.

Harry supposed that was as good as anything. "Do you think it would be possible for me to receive phone calls on the landline?" he asked, forcing the question out as calmly as he could.

Vernon slowly turned his head look at his nephew. "From one of those freaks?" he spat.

"Wizards don't use telephones," Harry said, wisely not actually answering the question.

Vernon stared at him for a moment. "Only to receive calls, you say?"

Harry nodded. "Not to make them," he assured him, somewhat unnecessarily. "It won't cost you a cent."

Vernon glanced at his wife, who didn't seem at all interested in the conversation. "Fine," he said.

Harry forced himself not to react.

"But only when nobody is home," Vernon added. "We don't want to hear whatever it is you have to say to whoever would be stupid enough to want to talk to you."

Harry merely nodded, his eyes turning cold. He was about to turn and leave when Vernon suddenly grabbed his wrist, twisting it rather painfully.

"If I find out you've been making calls, boy," he said, his tone icy. "Well, I don't need to remind you what will happen."

Harry visibly shuddered and Vernon smiled wickedly. He would never tire of tormenting his nephew. Even if it was just psychological. He released Harry's wrist and turned away, returning his attention to the television. For a moment, Harry just stared, trying to discern how they had come to this. It was useless, he knew. Sometimes hatred didn't have to have a reason.

Slowly, he turned on his heel and left the living room, absently rubbing his wrist of the pain. Hermione was worth it. He made his way up the stairs as quietly as he could, and closed himself behind his bedroom door. He couldn't help feeling a certain darkness looming over him, just waiting to claim him. He felt that fear for the first time since he was thirteen.

The truth was, Harry did know what _would_ happen if he broke the rules. Subconsciously, Harry moved to one corner of the room and slid to the floor. He suddenly felt like a little boy again, cowering from heavy fists and crying for his mother to come and save him.

She never did.

She already _had_.

Harry closed his eyes and fought the thoughts away. _Hold on_ , he told himself. _Think of better things_. He thought of Hermione. He pictured her face, smiling happily at him as he teased her about some of the things he liked best about her. He imagined her telling him that he would be okay. If she said it, it had to be true.

When Harry fell asleep, still on the floor, he was thinking of his bushy-haired best friend, the darkest thoughts temporarily pushed aside. Would she ever know, he wondered tiredly, just what she did for him? Even without being with him, she was protecting him.

Even from himself.

* * *

The first time Hermione told him she would call, Harry could barely sit still. He walked around the empty house several times, picking up and studying various random objects. He was just passing time, he knew, but this was a big deal.

Hermione was going to call him. He was going to talk to her on the phone.

He checked the clock. It was just before three o'clock. She said she would call after lunch. This was definitely after lunch. Why hadn't she called yet? Did she forget?

Harry did another round of the downstairs rooms of the house, subconsciously remaining near the phone so he would be sure to hear it if it rang. He hated all this waiting. He wanted to talk to her now.

The minutes dragged on as he waited, absently thinking that it was very unlike Hermione to be so vague about her times. What was she trying to do to him? Why wasn't she calling?

Eventually, Harry sat down in the main foyer, his back propped against the door to the cupboard under the stairs. He tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling, just waiting.

Slowly, time crept along and Harry felt the tension build up within him as the seconds ticked on. Hermione. What if she called too late? What if his Aunt returned from her book club meeting before he even had the chance to hear her voice?

When the phone did finally ring, Harry practically leapt to his feet and almost tripped over himself. He ran to the phone and stopped just over it, forcing himself to catch his breath. Carefully, he picked up the phone.

"Hello?" he said, his voice shaky.

"Hi," Hermione said. Just that one word robbed his lungs of breath. His body immediately relaxed and his face broke out into a wide smile.

"Hermione," he breathed.

"Were you waiting long?" she asked.

"I started to think that you weren't going to call."

She laughed lightly. "Harry, it's barely three thirty."

Harry was surprised by that. He checked the clock on the wall and, indeed, she was right. How could such a short time have felt like an eternity?

"What were you doing?" she asked, perking up ever so slightly. Harry noticed that her voice sounded higher on the phone, almost musical. He decided that he could probably listen to her speak every day for the rest of his life.

"Waiting."

"Now you're making me feel bad."

"What were _you_ doing?" he asked.

Hermione waited a beat before she responded, taking a moment to acknowledge that she really was talking to Harry. This was her Harry; the boy who had battled a mountain troll to save her. He sounded so… normal, on the phone. It was nice, just hearing his warm voice and nothing else. For once, she could imagine that he was just a boy, and she was just a girl. "Dad and I went for lunch in the city," she explained. "He just dropped me off and headed back to work."

"That sounds nice," Harry said sincerely, even though he felt a twinge of jealousy. He couldn't be sure if it was because he had no father to go to lunch with, or if it was because he wasn't the one getting to go to lunch with Hermione.

If Hermione noticed the slight drop in the volume of his voice, she didn't comment. "Where are you?" she asked.

"What?"

"Where are you? Like, in the house?"

He looked around, as if anything he would see would be new. "I'm in the entrance hall," he told her. "Why?"

"So I can imagine that I'm there with you, standing next to you, holding your hand, telling you that I miss you. Repeatedly."

Harry closed his eyes at the sound of her words. It was all so amazing, this thing that they had, but he knew that he could ruin it all in just a moment. But he owed it to her. He had to tell her about the Prophecy because she deserved to know. Before this went any further, she had to know what she was getting herself into.

"Hermione," he said seriously. "Do you remember what I said in the Infirmary, about my having something I had to tell you."

"I remember."

"I'm going to tell you now."

Harry could hear her breathing and it changed ever so slightly at the sound of his words. "I'm listening, Harry."

"Are you sitting down?"

The was a bit of rustling. "I am now."

He took a deep, calming breath. "It's about the Prophecy." For a moment, Harry didn't want to tell her. He didn't want to give her the option to run. He didn't want her to know that she could be placing a bet on a losing horse. Because, no matter what, Voldemort wouldn't stop. He wouldn't. Not until he had his hands on Harry Potter.

"Harry?" Hermione prompted, sounding surprisingly calm. Nothing like he felt.

"I know why my parents were killed," he started. "I know why he came looking to kill me that night. The Prophecy told of a boy, born to defiers of the Dark Lord, who was born in July. The Prophecy said that this boy would have the power that he knew not. This boy would have the power to vanquish the Dark Lord." He took a breath to gather himself for the part that he considered the most important. "One cannot survive while the other lives, Hermione. He _has_ to die, and I have to be the one to kill him."

There was silence for an indeterminable amount of time, and Harry's heart started to sink.

When Hermione finally spoke, there was nothing shaky about her tone of voice. "And you are this boy? We're sure about that?"

Harry swallowed. "Dumbledore said that it was between me and Neville," he informed her. "Voldemort picked me because I am a halfblood, more expendable. He marked me as his equal and now I have to be the one to defeat him."

Hermione pondered that for a moment, her silence making him feel a bit uncomfortable. "How did Voldemort even find out about the Prophecy?"

Harry appreciated the fact that she was asking questions. He knew she was using the time to sort through her own feelings on the matter and he was more than happy to oblige. "Dumbledore witnessed the Prophecy being made by Professor Trelawney, and one of Voldemort's spies must have overheard. I'm not really sure of the details. When Voldemort learned of it, he went in search of me. That's when my parents went into hiding. That's when Pettigrew betrayed them."

More silence. "How long have you known?"

"Umm." He swallowed. "Since the night Sirius died."

He could just imagine her calculating how many days he'd sat on this information before finally telling her. She didn't ask why though. "What were you worried about?"

His answer was simple, and it came out before he could even think about it. "Us."

She breathed. "What about us?"

"Things would have changed."

"Nothing would have changed between us, Harry."

"How can you even say that, Hermione? Things have already changed between us," he pointed out.

"Because that's something that we both want, isn't it? I'm not about to denounce you just because there's suddenly an actual reason Voldemort is coming after you. We both know he was already going to do it, given that you're the reason he was defeated all those years ago.

"You can't push me away. You won't be able to. It's too late now. It was always too late, and we both know it. I already told you that I'm not going anywhere."

He took a deep breath, steeling himself for yet another profound admission. "I _like_ you, Hermione. I _have_ to protect you."

She was surprised by how calm she felt. He was just stating something that she already knew. "I know, Harry. I like you too."

"Nothing can ever happen to you."

"And nothing can ever happen to you either."

"I won't survive it."

"Neither will I."

That would be the last time they spoke of those feelings until they saw each other. Harry could practically feel them make the silent agreement through the phone and it still amazed him how they could just know things about each other without even having to open their mouths.

That first phone call opened his eyes to several different things though. The most important, he would have to say, was that Hermione Granger liked him back. Deep down, he knew it had been true, but it was a relief to have it said out loud. They'd been building up to this point ever since she'd woken up from Dolohov's Curse.

No. Ever since she'd been struck with it.

In that moment, Harry Potter had figured something out; something that didn't pertain to Sirius or Ron or anyone else in this world, but her. It only mattered to Hermione Granger.

Because, in that moment, Harry Potter finally realised just what his mother had been feeling when she stood before Voldemort to protect him. He understood her sacrifice in a way he hadn't before. Sure, it had been about love, but he sometimes thought that her actions might have stemmed from a place of selfishness.

He understood now that there wouldn't have been a life worth living for her where he didn't survive. She would rather he live without her than she live without him. It was simple, now that _he_ felt it as well.

Hermione Granger had been hit by that Curse, and Harry Potter understood perfectly. There was no life of his worth living in which she didn't survive.

Simple.

* * *

For the most part, the beginning of Harry and Hermione's second phone call was considerably less emotionally charged than their first one. Unfortunately, it didn't remain that way.

Hermione had just about managed to wrap her head around what the Prophecy possibly meant for them, now that there were all these feelings threatening to erupt. Though Hermione was not okay with the Prophecy, she was still okay with it. It changed nothing, and yet it changed everything. She had to be with Harry _now_. Who knew how long they had before the Prophecy came into play? And then what?

Hermione didn't know if she would be able to let him face Voldemort the way he was prophesied to do so. Would she be able to let go when the time came?

"I think that Ginny is driving Ron crazy," Hermione said into the phone, chuckling softly.

Harry absolutely loved the sound of her laugh. It was like music, really, sounding at its very own frequency. "And why do you say that?" he asked. Harry was sitting on the floor in the entrance hall, his back leaning against a wall.

"When he wrote me the other day, he actually asked a question about homework… Can you believe it? Ronald Weasley actually doing his homework before September first? He must be bored out of his mind!"

Under normal circumstances, Harry really might have laughed, but he was feeling something very strange. He wouldn't go so far as to call it jealousy but it was a feeling definitely in that ballpark. Harry had seen the way his two best friends had acted around each other, particularly around the time of the Yule Ball.

Harry had never received a straight answer from either of them, and he wondered if now was as good as any to ask. Sure, Hermione did say that she liked _him_ , Harry; but did that mean that she couldn't like Ron too? Ron was better for her in that being with him wasn't a ticket to _DeathTown_.

"Harry?" she sounded, noticing his silence. "Is everything okay?"

He didn't know how to ask her; even if he could. Did he even want to know the answer? He didn't know how he would react.

"It's you," she eventually said. The girl really was a genius when it came Harry Potter and his suspicious silences. "I promise it's you."

He sighed, feeling a bit ashamed of his own thoughts. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she assured him. "You can ask me things, you know? I promise I'll answer. Anything you want to know, just ask."

"Thank you."

Hermione remained silent, allowing him the time to think about what he did want to ask. She was content with just listening to him breathe. It was a glorious sound, really. She'd faced too many instances when the world could have been robbed of that precious sound. It had to be cherished.

"Do you ever think about it?" he asked eventually. "About the possibility of my dying?"

"Sometimes," she admitted. "I think we'd be cowards if we didn't, from time to time. The Prophecy might be about you, Harry, but it's happening to the both of us now."

"It doesn't have to," he said quietly, needing to offer her an out. She had to know that she could walk away before this went any further. Now was as good as any time to have this conversation. It would be better to sever things before the word 'like' turned into 'love.' Because Harry could feel that he was almost there.

"Is that what you want?"

"Isn't it what I deserve?"

She took a deep breath. "I know only what you tell me, Harry. Whatever you're feeling, I want to help. Both Ron and I do. And Ginny, Neville and Luna. We want to help because we all care about you. Remember that, okay? You don't have to be alone in this, even if you sometimes feel that you are. We might not fully understand, but we're trying. I'll always try because, whether you like it or not, this is it for me. _You're_ it for me. I wouldn't have it any other way."

Harry was quiet as he listened to her. "You know, if I close my eyes, I can almost imagine that you're sitting in this very room with me."

"Holding your hand?"

"Holding _me_."

"Can you smell my shampoo?"

He smiled. "Mm hmm."

"Peonies."

"And almonds." He sighed. "It's perfect."

"It is."

There was a silence that stretched on, filling each of them with surprising ease. Harry felt calm, really. Peaceful.

"I'm sorry I'm such a basket case," he said, his voice barely audible.

Hermione didn't respond immediately. Somehow, she knew she had to tread carefully at times like these. She could tell that there were things that he was hiding, and she wasn't about to force them out of him. "As long as you're my basket case, I don't really care."

"You say that now…"

"And I will continue to say it, and mean it."

Harry's eyes were still closed, his head leaning back against the wall. "Hermione?"

"Yes Harry?"

"I don't want to end up hurting you."

"You won't."

"What if I can't help it?"

"Then we'll have to deal with that when we get there. I'd much rather have this thing with you, facing terrible odds, than have nothing. Okay?"

"You're too good for me."

Something must have happened, Hermione guessed. He sounded so sad, so defeated. There had to be a reason he was like this, today of all days. She had just decided to ask him about it when he gasped.

"Hermione, my aunt just got home. I've got to go. Bye."

"Harry? Wait -"

He ended the call and Hermione was left with the sound of the dropped tone. She had half a mind to call him right back. Something was wrong, she could feel it. He needed her.

Half an hour later, a letter arrived from him. If you could even call it a letter.

 _Dear Hermione_

 _You deserve to be happy. I'm going to end up ruining you. I would never forgive myself._

 _Harry_

The shortness of his letter did nothing to ease her worries, and she was quick to reply. Somehow, she had to get it through to him without scaring him away.

 _Dearest Harry_

 _So do you. More than anyone in this world; you deserve the greatest happiness. That is what you deserve. Stop thinking otherwise. Please let me make you happy, Harry._ _Because, right now, you are the only one who could make_ me _happy. Believe me. I promise, there is nothing you could say or do to get rid of me now. You're already a part of me, Harry Potter._

 _Your resident Professor,_

 _Hermione_

Harry knew, even before this latest conversation, and even before these short letters; that anything with Hermione would be so much more than a fling. She wasn't just some random girl he could date and then leave. No. She was Hermione: his best friend, sometimes his everything.

He knew that, once they fully acknowledged this thing brewing between him, that would be it. It would be real, and he wouldn't be able to let go of her, ever.

He would be tethering her to a doomed relationship.

And sometimes, he got the feeling that she didn't even seem to care.


	4. Chapter 4

_"This pain is part of being human… the fact that you can feel pain like this is your greatest strength." - Albus Dumbledore_

 **Chapter Four**

When Hermione and her family left for Norwich, the teenagers had to tweak their routine a bit. The good thing, Harry supposed, was that Hermione's grandparents knew that she was a witch, which would mean that the constant appearance of a snowy white owl wouldn't appear too weird.

It also helped that Hedwig was so well-behaved. And easy love.

Hermione's first letter arrived the first day she arrived in Norwich, and Harry allowed himself to feel guilty about that for just shy of a minute. He knew that she knew she wasn't obligated to keep writing to him at such a frenzied pace. She was doing it because she wanted to, and if that didn't set his heart ablaze; he didn't know what would. Even though he couldn't understand why, he started to miss her in a different way when she was in Norwich. He thought it might have something to do with knowing that she was further away from him.

 _Dearest Harry_

 _Let me just say that it is surprisingly warm here in Norwich. Mum had me pack extra jerseys but I doubt I'm going to need them. It'd be nice to experience an actual summer for once. Is it hot in Surrey? I've never been._

 _The latest news on my grandfather isn't good. His health is deteriorating faster than anticipated. I think he's giving up. The body can only do so much without the mind. My mum has been crying herself to sleep lately. They're really close and it hurts me to see her so sad. I honestly don't think there's anything worse than watching your mother cry - aside from not having one._

 _I'm sorry, Harry._

 _My nan is holding together quite well. I think, out of all of us, she's had the longest time to come to terms with what is surely to happen. My grandparents are quite old, really. My mother is their youngest, and I'm their youngest grandchild, so you can only imagine. One day, I'll have to fill you in on the family tree. It's quite interesting._

 _About your Charms homework: I've just about finished editing it and I'll probably send it along later. It's really good. I have to admit I was rather surprised. Am I rubbing off on you or what?_

 _I don't think that I will be able to phone you today, but definitely tomorrow. Or maybe the next day. I'm not sure. I'll keep you posted. Just know that I'm here, desperately wanting to hear your voice._

 _I have to confess that I find myself thinking about you almost constantly. It's proven to be quite distracting. My parents keep giving me curious looks whenever I lose my train of thought. You're turning me into a typical teenage girl! The horror._

 _I miss you._

 _Your resident Professor,_

 _Hermione_

 _P.S. Have I turned you into a typical boy?_

As with most of Hermione's letters, Harry found himself smiling like a little boy. Really, he didn't know how one person could make him feel such happiness. This time, he allowed himself to feel it. There was no running away from it now. It wasn't even as if she'd said anything shocking or spectacular. It was just that she had said something; anything.

He'd always been able to talk to her. Out of all the people he knew, she seemed to be the only one who truly understood, or was patient enough with him to try to understand. That made all the difference.

Harry had to finish up in the back garden before he could reply to her letter. He wouldn't say it was particularly hot in Surrey but working in the garden definitely built up a sweat. Out of all Harry's chores, he'd say that gardening wasn't the worst. He found it oddly therapeutic. But it really didn't help that the garden was littered with so many tools that could be used to hurt him.

Thankfully, he was done before any of his relatives got home, which allowed him to retreat to his room without question. Harry felt an unmeasurable amount of anger towards his uncle, which tainted his mood quite significantly. He didn't like that the man had threatened him. It had brought back too many memories that he desperately tried to suppress. And with Sirius sitting on his brain, he felt especially vulnerable.

It made him feel things he couldn't tell anyone about. Not even Hermione.

At least, not before _this_ summer. His coping mechanisms now heavily involved her, and she deserved to know. He owed it to her.

 _Dear Hermione_

 _Surrey is a little warm, but not as hot as it usually gets around this time. I sometimes think that it's Voldemort at play. I remember reading something about the weather or the surroundings mirroring what is happening in real life. It has a name, doesn't it?_

 _Anyway, I've never been to Norwich either. Uncle Vernon supports Norwich City in football so I'm not too sure how I feel about it. It's petty that, isn't it? I'm feeling rather petty._

 _I'm sorry your mum is hurting the way she is. I know it must be hard. I suspect that it would have been more difficult for me if I had known my parents; if I'd been able to remember them._

 _Your grandfather sounds like the greatest man. Maybe it is time, in a sense, that God is calling his angel back to heaven. It probably sounds really cliche, but I seem to be finding some comfort in the cliche._

 _I bet your grandfather is enjoying all the attention. Especially yours. It's like an entire experience to be the centre of your attention. I should know; I've been privileged enough to experience it._

 _You say you think about me, huh? Well, I think about you too. It's borderline unhealthy just how much._

 _There are things that I feel sometimes, Hermione. I know they're not normal, and I don't mean to worry you with all of this but I need you to understand. I'm afraid that I'll turn into a burden to you, Hermione, and I could never handle the day that you begin to resent me._

 _Honestly, thoughts of you are the only things that get me through my days. The hours are just passing by and it sometimes feels like I'm just holding my breath until I get to see you again. I don't think it's fair to you; for me to need you so much that I can barely hold onto my sanity. Sometimes I get so far into my head that I forget anything else exists. I tend to think too much when I'm alone._

 _It scares me, Hermione. What I feel. It's like a constant battle between what I'm trying to push away and what I'm struggling to hold onto._

 _And then there's you. I want to hold onto this, to you, with a certain desperation that frightens me. We're teenagers. This isn't what I want for you. But I'm selfish. I need you, and it scares me just how much._

 _Your resident troublemaker,_

 _Harry_

 _P.S. A typical boy, you ask… Definitely. But I'd rather not elaborate on that. It's a little too embarrassing._

As Harry reread it, he worried if he'd ended up saying too much. But she had to know. He had to know that she knew. She was more important to him than any other person in this great big world.

When he finally sent the letter, he reached astounding levels of panic. It was late enough that he could disappear into his room unnoticed after he'd scrounged for something to eat. He wasn't that hungry anyway. His nerves were definitely getting the better of him.

How would she react? What would she think of him then?

Was this it?

It was for the best.

The letter arrived much later. Much much later. Harry even contemplated not opening it. He didn't think he could handle it if she did run from his pain. Not that he thought she would. But the thought still plagued him.

 _Dearest Harry_

 _They call it pathetic fallacy. It's my understanding that Shakespeare had quite a bit to do with coining that term. My nan once claimed that she thought he_ had _to be a wizard. There is no way a single man could produce so many literary wonders without having a little magic. It makes a bit of sense to me, I have to admit._

 _Thank you for your kind words about my grandfather. I'll have to tell you more about him at a later time because, now, I believe we have something else very important to discuss._

 _Truthfully, I would have preferred to phone you but even I know that you won't want that. The only reason you told me what you did is because you were writing it, am I right? I have questions that I want to ask, as you must expect that I do._

 _Why is this the first time that you've ever spoken about these thoughts, these worries? Did you not want me to know? Why not?_

 _Why are you telling me now?_

 _What do they do to you in that house? Does the Order know?_

 _Why are you so determined to believe that you're alone?_

 _What can I do? What more can I do to make it all better, Harry?_

 _I think it is both a blessing and a curse to feel things so deeply, Harry. I just want you to remember that nothing is permanent. Not even our troubles. The pain, it goes away. With time, everything heals. As witches and wizards, I think we become accustomed to being able to fix physical wounds with the flick of the wrist. It's not the same for emotional wounds. I understand that, Harry._

 _I'm fully on board with anything and everything you have to offer. I can promise you that._

 _Listen to me, Harry Potter, and listen to me carefully: you are very important to me. Sometimes, the most important. All I want, right now, is for you to be safe and happy. I would do anything for it to happen and, if I get the opportunity to do even the slightest thing to help; you have to know I would do it without question._

 _So you don't have to worry about me that way. If you feel like a burden, just know that you're my burden to bear, which is how I would want it anyway. I'm the only person I trust enough with your well being anyhow. It's a responsibility I'm more than willing to accept. I would be at your side if I were still just your best friend so you can only imagine how you'll definitely never get rid of me now._

 _What I feel, it also scares me. I've never felt this way about another human being but I'm okay with it. Because that human being is you. You can try as you might, tease me, yell at me, tell me you're not worth it every day, but I know what I want. I'll tell you every day. I want this too. You, Harry, and everything that comes with you, the good and the bad, the big and all the small things._

 _Believe me and accept it when I say that what I want for myself is you. It's simple. I will never leave you. I will never go. This is the last time you will ever doubt that, do I make myself clear?_

 _So what if we're only teenagers? We've already experienced so much in our short lives. I think we know more about life and its hardships than most adults._

 _So you don't get to make excuses for me. I'm a big girl, Harry Potter. I can handle myself, and I sure as hell can handle whatever you send my way, because you're entirely worth it. This is what I want._

 _I like you, Harry. A lot. More than I think you're ready to know._

 _Your resident Professor,_

 _Hermione_

 _P.S. Typical boy say what? Hmm… My imagination is running wild, Mr Potter._

There were all words he needed to hear, and he was inclined to believe them. He wanted to; he had every intention of doing so… It was just, well, how could he justify their relationship? He needed her far more than she needed him. How could they ever survive something like that? How could a relationship built on such pain possibly have a viable future?

Harry did not reply to Hermione's letter. It wasn't the type of letter he felt he could reply to. Sure, she'd asked lots of questions but he didn't have the answers. Even if he did, he was sure she wouldn't like them. He didn't even like them, and he was painfully accepting of all life could possibly throw at him.

It took him almost three days to find the will to write back to her. It was torture, not being able to talk to her. He needed to hear her voice.

 _Dear Hermione_

 _I'm trying. I really am._

 _I miss you so much that I find myself aching for your touch._

 _I like you a lot too. Like a lot a lot. It's a lot, Hermione; believe me._

 _Will you phone today? Say, three o'clock? I'm sorry I've been distant. I want to do right by you and, to do that, I have to get through this. I have to get better. And I now know that I can do that, with you._

 _Your resident troublemaker,_

 _Harry_

Once the letter was sent, Harry literally set up camp near the phone. Aunt Petunia was still in the house and she kept glancing at him curiously. Even scowling from time to time.

Harry didn't care.

When his aunt left for her book club meeting, Harry felt himself relax only a bit. It was safe now for him to answer the phone when it rang. If it rang.

Hermione hadn't responded to his letter, and the darker part of his mind was convinced that she wouldn't ever respond again.

When the phone did ring, Harry took a moment to gather himself. His heart was thumping in his chest, threatening to erupt. He hesitantly lifted the phone and brought it to his ear.

"Hello."

"Harry Potter," she breathed, sounding both relieved and angry at the same time. "Please don't ever do that to me ever again."

"I won't."

"Good."

"I'm sorry," he said carefully.

She ignored his apology. "How are you, Harry?"

"Better now," he admitted truthfully. "How are you?"

"I've been better."

"How's your grandfather?"

"As animated as ever," she said, chuckling softly. "He's being so strong, for us, I suspect. He's always been so serious, so it's quite surprising to find out that he seems to have quite the sense of humour."

"Does he make jokes about death?"

Hermione quieted. "Yes he does. How did you know?"

Harry thought it best not to reply to that question. He wouldn't even know what to say. "How often do you see him?" he asked.

"Harry?"

He sighed. He should have know that she wouldn't let it go. "I don't know, Hermione," he admitted. "It's just what makes sense to me. It's what _I_ do, isn't it? When you're so worried over my well-being, I make jokes about my mortality. It's how we cope, isn't it? By burying our pain in humour."

She took a moment to think about his words. "That _is_ what you do. I've always hated it."

"I know."

"And yet you still do it."

Harry found himself smiling. "I think it's because I find you rather cute when you're scolding me."

"Cute, huh?"

"Maybe sexy then?"

Hermione made no sound. She was holding her breath, and she had to move the phone away from her mouth, in case she made an embarrassing sound.

"Hey, Granger? You still there?"

"You're mean."

Harry chose not to say anything, rather focusing on the sound of her breathing.

She broke the silence. "Do _you_ ever think about it?"

"What?"

"The possibility of your dying."

Hermione had to know it was a loaded question. She was talking to the boy who a depraved psychopath tried to kill when he was just a toddler. Harry Potter spent a little too much time thinking about his mortality. He had faced death more times than the average fifteen year old.

"Because I told you that I sometimes think about it. I worry that you think about it _too_ much."

Harry picked up something in her tone of voice that sent a shiver down his spine. "Hermione, do you think that I would take my own life?" he asked softly, cautiously.

"I don't know," she admitted truthfully. "It makes sense to think that you might not have much to live for, with Sirius gone, with the Dursleys doing whatever it is they do to you, and this Prophecy… Just tell me, am I right to worry?"

"Hermione?" he croaked.

"It's okay if you've thought about it, Harry," she said soothingly. "Just, I, look, I can't lose you, and I need to know if what you said in your letter will ever lead you to take action."

"It won't," he finally said. "I know that suicide doesn't end the pain. It just passes it on to someone else."

She breathed out, in some form of relief. "That's terribly insightful, Harry."

"I read it somewhere," he explained. "I'm not that inspirational."

"Still rather amazing."

"Surprising."

She took a deep breath. "I don't know what I would do without you," she said softly. It came out as a whisper, like she was trying to tell him a secret. "Even just as my best friend, Harry; I don't think I would survive a world where you didn't exist.

"And I fully acknowledge that I would probably be more of a second rate citizen than I already am in the magical world if you hadn't stopped Voldemort the way you did all those years ago. But that isn't the reason why I'm telling you what I'm telling you. This thing going on between us, it's a part of me now. You're a part of me, Harry. So, please, hold onto me as tightly as you want. I won't break."

Even as Harry listened to her, he knew in his heart of hearts that he would never find another girl remotely like her. He could scour every inch of the earth and still come up empty. Hermione Granger was one of a kind and she was interested in _him_. Despite all that came with Harry Potter, Hermione Granger vowed not to waver.

"Your wellbeing, your safety, Harry, is just as important to me as mine is to you," she added. "If you can believe that, and allow that; then I think that you and I will have an amazing future."

"That's what you want?" he asked quietly. "Really?"

"I want a future with you, Harry," she said strongly. "I don't think I've wanted anything more. Except, maybe, a full lot of Outstandings."

"Which you will surely get," he let her know. "You are the smartest person that I know."

"And so will you believe me when I say I'm smart enough to know what I want, who I want, and what I can and cannot handle? I can handle you, and everything you are, even if you think that I shouldn't have to."

"I think you are lovely," he said, his words sounding foreign on his tongue. "I know I don't tell you enough, but thank you for all that you do for me. I never would have made it this far without you, Hermione Granger. And," he paused; "I want a future with you too."

Hermione didn't trust herself enough to speak.

"You make me believe in magic, Hermione."

She couldn't hold it in. She giggled. She _actually_ giggled. "You're too good at this, Harry."

He found that he was also smiling. "Too good at what?"

"Making me want you."

His eyes widened, and his breath hitched. "Umm."

"Still there, Potter?"

"Oh, _that_ was mean," he muttered, catching his breath.

"See, it's not very nice, is it?"

"Oh no, I didn't say I didn't like it," he said. "By all means, continue talking about how much you want me. I could listen to this all day."

She took a deep breath. "Is this it then? Are we actually going to talk about it? Whatever is happening between us, that we're vehemently not discussing? Is this the moment?"

Harry took his own deep breath. "No, we're going to have that conversation when we're together, Hermione. It's the kind of talk we have face to face. I want to be able to see you."

"Okay."

"Okay."

"I can't wait."

"Neither can I."

* * *

On the morning Harry was scheduled to leave for the Burrow, he was feeling conflicted. On the one part, he was relieved to be away from the Dursleys, but then it would mess with the routine that he and Hermione had developed. He didn't want to mess with it, in case things went wrong.

But then, he would be seeing her at the Burrow, wouldn't he?

Perhaps that was why he was conflicted. Once he saw her, things would really change. They would be forced to acknowledge this thing between them, and then what? It would no longer be words that they said.

Even so, Harry was ready and waiting when Dumbledore arrived to pick him up. He'd just sent off his latest letter to Hermione, letting her know that he would be at the Burrow for a while. Truthfully, he didn't know for how long, given that Ron was particularly vague about the Weasleys' dates for their trip to visit Charlie.

Dumbledore, of course, was right on time. He was polite with his greetings of the Dursleys, but very curt. Harry could tell that there were things that the aged wizard wanted to say to his relatives but he held his tongue while still in Harry's presence.

While upstairs in Harry's room, Dumbledore revealed the contents of Sirius' will to Harry, as promised. It was a rather sobering affair for Harry, and it just made his anger flare up. Sirius had made the decision to bequeath all his possessions to his godson knowing that, in the event of his death, the Black fortune would likely be inherited by the Lord Voldemort faithful.

This way, it stayed with the Light.

As part of his inheritance, Harry received ownership of No. 12 Grimmauld Place. It was just Sirius' second prison. Harry even shuddered at the memories. He wanted no affiliation with the darkest building he had ever encountered, but he did offer the house to Dumbledore to continue to use as Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix. It was heavily warded and already known to their members.

When Dumbledore mentioned the horrid elf, Kreacher, Harry almost snarled. What a vile creature! Before he could speak his own profanities, Harry thought of Hermione. Bless her and her forgiving heart. Harry made the decision to send Kreacher to work at Hogwarts, where people could keep an eye on him.

"Harry, before we go, I have a favour to ask of you," Dumbledore began, his tone turning somber. "It is something I require from you. It's very important."

"Is it about Voldemort?"

"Indirectly, yes."

Harry swallowed. "There is a professor who used to work at Hogwarts. He was the Potions professor during Tom's time. He was the Head of Slytherin."

"Do you think he has information?"

"I know he does."

"What type of information?"

Dumbledore regarded Harry for a moment, contemplating what he could tell him. He was under no illusions that Harry's opinion of him was severely altered. After the past year, he didn't blame the young wizard, but Dumbledore was determined to fix that, if he could.

"You can't tell me, can you?" Harry asked, reading the aged Headmaster's facial expression.

"It's too dangerous."

The anger Harry felt was nothing like the rage he'd exhibited when Dumbledore revealed the Prophecy to him. It was apparent to them both that they were both thinking of that memory. Harry would have thought that his Headmaster would know that keeping things from him was a bad idea.

"When I have more information, Harry; I promise I will explain everything."

His words did nothing to placate Harry but he still ended up nodding. "What do you need me to do?"

"We are going to pay Professor Slughorn a visit," Dumbledore explained. "Forgive my bluntness, Harry; but I intend to dangle you in front of him, in order to get him to return to his position of Potions professor at Hogwarts."

Harry's eyes widened. "What about Snape?"

"I'm afraid that I have been forced to appoint him as professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts."

Harry's jaw dropped. Was this man trying to make his life a living hell? Didn't he realise what he was doing? Didn't he see just what an opportunity he was offering to that _snake_?

"See, the thing with Horace Slughorn is that he is a collector," Dumbledore continued, blatantly ignoring the shocked look on Harry's face. "He collects prized students, famous ones too, and invites them into an elite club. I believe that he will be too tempted by the thought of you to refuse my offer."

Harry didn't know why he felt disgusted. "You said it's important?"

"Very."

"It will help with defeating Voldemort?"

"I wouldn't ask if it wouldn't."

Harry considered it for a moment. Dumbledore knew that Harry wouldn't, couldn't, say no. They both knew, and yet the Headmaster was actually _asking_ him. It meant a lot to Harry in a way he couldn't quite explain. He appreciated the fact that the Headmaster was at least trying to make it look like it was his own decision.

Even though it most definitely wasn't.

"Okay," Harry finally said. He would help in any way to end Voldemort. That was a known fact.

Dumbledore clapped his hands together. "Fantastic. Shall we?"

Harry just nodded as he rose to his feet. He watched as Dumbledore shrunk his trunk along with Hedwig's cage. It felt strange bending to pick them up and slipping them into his pocket. It amazed him, really, that the sum total of his life could actually fit in one of his pockets. How sad was that?

Even as Harry left the house, he knew that he had no choice but to trust Dumbledore at this point. He didn't want to. Not after the year that the two of them had had. Harry just couldn't forget the way he'd been ignored, almost forgotten about, sidelined, left to his own devices.

And he'd been tortured.

Really, it could have been a lot worse, he concluded. He should count himself lucky, surely. Umbridge might have wanted to use the Cruciatus Curse on him but even he knew that she was depraved enough to get creative with her torture.

Harry couldn't help but think, even on that day, Hermione had saved him.

Really, when _wasn't_ she saving him?


	5. Chapter 5

_"Happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light." - Albus Dumbledore_

 **Chapter Five**

Harry was warmly received by the Weasleys, and Ron even went so far as to drop to his knees in front of Harry, making everyone laugh at the redhead's antics.

"Thank Merlin you're here," he said. "I couldn't handle another day with just Ginny."

Ginny huffed. "I can hear you," she said, folding her arms and looking particularly unimpressed with her brother.

"Good. Now go away. I want to talk boy things with my best mate now."

"You mean Quidditch? That's about all you can have a proper conversation about anyway, isn't it?"

Ron shot her a sour look. When he turned to look at Harry, the raven-haired wizard was smirking. "It's been like this all summer," he explained, using the kitchen table to help himself get to his feet. "I've come so close to hexing her too many times to even count."

"You'd miss me even if you tried," Ginny said, clearly enjoying winding her brother up. "You've always struggled with your aim. I _have_ shared a bathroom with you all my life. I would know."

Harry burst out laughing at that, and Molly Weasley took the opportunity to reprimand her two youngest. How dare they act so callous in front of her guest?

Ron put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "He's family, Mum. Trust me, he's seen all of this and then some."

Harry had to agree with the redhead, but it did little to help with Molly's disapproval.

"Why don't you help Harry get settled in?" Molly offered. "I'm sure he'd like to put his things away before dinner."

"Thank you, Mrs Weasley," Harry said kindly, before he and Ron made their way out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

Harry was surprised when Ron didn't lead him to his own room that they usually shared. Instead, Ron took him to what Harry knew to be Fred and George's room.

"Mum thought you'd appreciate your own room this summer," Ron explained as he entered the room and set Hedwig's empty cage down on one of the desks. "And, seeing as the twins aren't around, it just about made sense."

"I also won't have to deal with your snoring."

"Exactly."

Harry grinned at him. "It's perfect. Thank you."

Ron regarded his friend for a moment. Truthfully, he'd expected to be met with a broody Harry, particularly after Sirius' death, but Harry seemed lighter. Even happy, Ron mused. He was tempted to ask about it but he didn't dare, in case he ruined it. He liked the light look in his best friend's eye.

"Are you just going to stand there and stare at me?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow curiously.

"You wish," he muttered, starting for the door. "I'll let you unpack or whatever. Maybe we can fit in a quick game of Quidditch before dinner, yeah?"

Harry nodded. "Sure."

With that, Ron was gone, quietly closing the door behind him. In the Burrow, Harry rarely had that much alone time, and he was determined to use it. He didn't even bother with his trunk as he sat down on one of the beds and dissected all that had happened today. He definitely had a lot to tell Hermione.

Speaking of. Almost as soon as he had consciously thought of her, Hedwig arrived at the closed window. Harry jumped up to open it, and his familiar flew straight in and perched herself on one of the desks.

"Hey, girl," Harry said, ruffling her feathers lovingly.

She hooted her approval as she stuck out her leg for him to retrieve the letter that had to come from Hermione. He couldn't even stop himself from smiling at merely the thought of her. He could barely remember a time when her face hadn't clouded every single one of his thoughts.

Before he even began to read her letter, he dug through his trunk for some owl treats. Hedwig would never forgive him if he didn't. Once the majestic owl was happily nibbling away, Harry practically flung himself onto his claimed bed and ripped open the letter. He'd barely read a word before he was smiling like a complete fool.

 _My Dearest Harry_

 _Let me know that you've arrived at the Burrow safely, as soon as you do. You should be used to this by now. Or you should get used to it. I'll never change in that regard. That's a promise._

 _The Burrow, huh? I bet you're relieved to be away from your relatives. I reckon I'm more relieved though. I can't stand the thought of you being in that house for any longer than you have to._

 _What have the Weasleys said about their visit to Romania? When do they leave? What happens to you then? I don't like not knowing._

 _I worry about you. All the time._

 _Under normal circumstances, I would probably already be at the Burrow as well. It would be safest, I know, but I can't possibly leave my family right now. I love the Weasleys, I do, but, like you say, there_ is _a difference. I feel so disconnected from my parents sometimes and I think this time with them is what we all need._

 _With the War coming, who's to know when next I'll be home anyway, right?_

 _My grandfather has taken a turn for the worst. They're keeping him sedated for the moment. The pain is becoming too much for him to bear, and it's breaking my heart. He's one of the strongest men I've ever known - besides you - and we're just watching him wither away._

 _The doctors say that it's surprising that he's held on this long. I'm not surprised at all. Alexander Reginald Freeman has always defied the odds. Did I ever tell you that he was a soldier? He's a war hero, you know? I'm considering telling him all about you. Would you be okay with that? I just want him to know that I've managed to find someone as great as you. I don't want him to have to worry._

 _So, I will definitely be seeing you on your birthday. How are you feeling about that, by the way? I'm just relieved that we're finally going to be the same age. Even if it is for a short while._

 _I miss you quite terribly, and I literally cannot wait to see you._

 _Your resident Professor,_

 _Hermione_

Harry found it amazing, really, that Hermione's letters could carry so much emotion. Sometimes they took him on a bit of a roller-coaster. This girl was truly special.

Harry glanced at Hedwig. "You think you can handle one more flight tonight?" he asked her.

She just tilted her head in response. It was enough for Harry. He got up from the bed and moved to retrieve some parchment and a quill from his trunk. He didn't know what time it was but, based on the setting sun, it would be dinner soon. He hoped he would be done with his own letter before Ron came looking for him.

 _Dear Hermione_

 _Your boy has arrived safely at the Burrow. I think it will be quite some time before I get used to someone worrying about me the way that you do._

 _I would never ask you to change. You are perfect just the way you are._

 _So many questions. Damn. Well, it's my understanding that they're heading to Romania the second week of August, so I'm guessing I'm going back to Privet Drive. I don't think I mind all that much at this point. Things are just happening and I'm just going to let them._

 _A lot happened today though, with Dumbledore. I'll write it all out for you after dinner._

 _Of course! Tell your grandfather anything you want… provided they're good things only. I think that I quite like the idea of his knowing about me, and just how important you are to me._

 _I'm afraid this might have to be a quick letter. I promise I will respond to everything else later, when there's no chance of Ron coming in to drag me out for a round of Quidditch. By the way, what are we going to tell him?_

 _Anyway, just know that I'm thinking about you now and always. Every second of every day._

 _I do wish you were here though. I can't wait to see you either. Honestly. My heart literally thumps whenever I think about it. I'll see you and I'll hold you and I'll tell you how much you mean to me and I'll run my hands through your hair and I'll kiss you._

 _Yes. I'm going to kiss you when I see you. Repeatedly. They'll be nothing innocent about it._

 _Your resident troublemaker,_

 _Harry_

Harry chuckled to himself as he prepared the letter to send it off. Just in time, really, because then Ron was in the room, spread out on the bed Harry hadn't claimed. As Ron lay there, Harry had the sudden urge to tell him all about… well, everything.

He didn't.

Harry was selective with his news, choosing not to reveal the Prophecy until Hermione was here. He didn't think he would be able to handle Ron's reaction if it wasn't a good one. Harry told him about the visit to Slughorn and about how Snape would be their new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, which had Ron sputtering obscenities. It was rather hilarious actually.

Even as Harry sat there laughing at his friend's antics, he couldn't stop thinking that Ron was saving Harry in an entirely different way to the way Hermione was.

Harry would have to come up with an entirely _different_ way to show Ron his appreciation.

* * *

In all his life, Harry Potter had never looked forward to his birthday as much as he did his sixteenth. If anyone were to ask him, he would probably have to admit that it had absolutely nothing to with getting older or even the attention he would surely receive.

No. It had everything to do with Hermione Jean Granger.

He barely slept; he was so embarrassingly excited to see her. She would be arriving in the morning and he just knew that things would be different from that moment forward. It wasn't even a question anymore.

The new thing that he and Hermione had was wonderful and exciting and overwhelming, and he honestly couldn't wait to see her. It was one thing to talk to her but an entirely different thing to lay eyes on her, touch her, just hold her. Even kiss her.

It frightened him a bit as well. He couldn't help worrying that whatever they were experiencing existed on only paper or over the phone. What if she saw him and realised that none of this was what she wanted?

Harry forced himself not to panic. There was no point. This was Hermione Granger. He didn't know anyone else who meant whatever they said more than she did.

When Arthur Weasley headed out to fetch Hermione the next morning, Harry almost started to hyperventilate. He just couldn't get control of his breathing and Ron kept giving him the strangest looks. How would he even be able to explain himself to his best friend? How could he tell Ron that he liked Hermione _that_ way?

Harry and the Weasleys were still sitting at the kitchen table when their patriarch returned. He was talking animatedly with his companion, but all speech stopped the second Hermione stepped through the kitchen door and her eyes settled on Harry. She practically froze at the sight of him, as if she didn't expect him to be there.

He was already staring at her, suddenly smiling like a complete and utter idiot.

Hermione managed to recover in time to return the hug of Mrs Weasley. The motherly figure pulled Hermione further into the kitchen where the young witch was showered in greetings as if she were the one celebrating her birthday. Through it all, Harry remained completely silent. He just watched her, marvelling in her understated beauty. Had she always looked like that?

To him, she appeared rather nervous, and the egotistical part of him allowed himself to believe that it had a little something to do with him. Her smile didn't seem to reach her eyes as she went through the polite greetings.

And then it was his turn, and she all but started crying when he stood up. He was here, right in front of her. Hugging him now would be very different to hugging him before these past weeks happened. How could everything have changed so quickly? Or not so quickly?

She seemed to take a deep breath before she hugged him, more cautiously than was expected from Hermione Granger. Especially on his birthday. "You're going to have to let go," she whispered into his ear after a moment. "I don't think I'll be able to."

Harry chuckled softly as he gave her one last squeeze and finally released her, letting his fingers linger for a moment. He had the sudden urge to kiss her but he just managed to control himself.

Hermione was smiling happily at him. "Happy birthday, Harry Potter."

"Thank you," he said.

Mrs Weasley ushered Hermione into a seat, thankfully right next to Harry. She bumped knees with him once she was settled and he slid a hand onto her lower thigh, squeezing ever so slightly.

Hermione looked at him for a surprised moment before she placed her own hand over his and interlaced their fingers. Their moment didn't last very long but it was enough for now. They were quickly swallowed up by the twins' antics, who went on and on about the joke shop. Harry could only wonder what surprises awaited him when he finally got around to opening his presents.

Hermione happily discussed her own O.W.L.s results and she blushed quite fiercely when Harry mentioned that he was insanely proud of her and threw her a wistful look. That look would be her undoing one day, she was sure of it.

It was a great day, really, right until the moment Remus Lupin arrived with grave news about yet another dementor attack. He also had news of Igor Karkaroff's death, which troubled Harry. Lupin explained that the former Death Eater had tried desperately to fight off the call of the Dark Mark and ultimately paid the full price.

The conversation took a morbid turn for a while. It turned a little lighter when Lupin suddenly stared at Harry and declared that it was his birthday. He admitted to almost forgetting to wish Harry happy birthday, which was quite amusing when he did remember.

Harry's presents consisted of too many sweet things, and too many dangerous things. Mrs Weasley warned Harry not to open any of the _jokes_ inside the house. From Hermione, Harry received an empty notebook and an engraved quill, with his initials. There was a letter inside the book, which he would read later, when he was alone.

Harry cast her a look that spoke volumes of his appreciation, and she felt her cheeks start to burn. She was all too happy when Ginny got her attention and she had an excuse to look away from him. Because she needed an excuse. He was just too good to look at. It just seemed to her that he'd become so much more handsome in the time they'd been apart.

Whenever Harry could, he looked at Hermione. He was content to just watch her, even as she sat across the room, engaging in conversations with people who weren't him. Really, he wanted to take her hand and lead her out of the room. He wanted to be alone with her so he could tell her things, do things.

Harry wanted to be able to hug her for as long as he wanted, without having to worry about what people would think. They definitely deserved their moment alone. He wanted to hold her hand and breathe her in and kiss her and whisper words that made her blush.

Yet, it was hours before Harry and Hermione finally had their moment. Harry had spent most of the day with Ron at his side but, when the raven-haired wizard mentioned running up to what was George and Fred's old bedroom; Ron didn't move a muscle.

Hermione did, definitely noticing the brief look that he sent her way.

She found Harry scrummaging through his bookbag, obviously searching for something. He was even turning red from frustration, which she found particularly adorable.

Hermione silently entered the room and closed the door behind her. Harry heard the sound of the lock and froze, already knowing who was standing behind him. His heart started to race as he slowly stood up straight and turned to look at her.

He couldn't help it. He smiled at merely the sight of her. "Hiya Stalker," he said.

"You _wish_ you were that important to me," she said, walking towards him.

He grinned. "I do. I really do."

Hermione didn't stop walking until she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pressed her body against his. She'd been itching to hug him like this from the second she laid eyes on him that morning.

Harry didn't hesitate as he wrapped his own arms around her waist and pulled her closer, his eyes closing and his body immediately relaxing at the contact. She was known for her bruising hugs, but the gentle ones were wonderful as well. He never wanted to let go.

Hermione held him for the longest time, just breathing him in. She'd been worried earlier. Through their letters and phone calls, something had definitely changed. And seeing him would be the decider, really. Pursuing something, anything, with Harry Potter wasn't a decision to be made lightly, even if she felt as if she would abandon her entire world for him.

Eventually, Hermione did loosen her grip, but her arms did not drop from his neck. She laced her fingers together behind him and looked into his eyes, searching for some clue as to what he was really feeling.

Harry's hands were resting on her sides, his fingers featherlight but still quite possessive. Hermione loved it.

"You look flushed," Harry said, raising his eyebrows.

"It has nothing to do with you, if that's what you're implying."

He smirked. "Never."

She absently ran a hand through his hair, smiling at the fact that he closed his eyes. "Harry?"

He didn't open his eyes. "Hmm?"

"What are we doing?"

Harry opened one eye at a time. From her facial expression, she needed him to be serious. "We're holding each other in a way that normal friends don't, Hermione."

"And what exactly does that mean?"

"It means that we're not normal friends."

She swallowed. "Then what are we?"

"We're more," he said seriously. "We're so much more."

Hermione felt rather light-headed but she managed to keep her eyes focused on his face. "As long as we're on the same page about this…"

"We're definitely on the same page about this," he assured her. "I might even be a page ahead."

"Oh really?"

He nodded, a wide smile slowly spreading across his face.

"What happens next then?"

Harry didn't even hesitate. He'd made the decision the second he sensed it was her in the room with him. This was what he wanted; what he desperately needed. Hermione Granger was his saving grace. Always had been, always would be.

His eyes asked the question and her eyes answered in the affirmative. He was smiling when he kissed her, his body taking over as his brain momentarily shut down. He was kissing Hermione! And she was kissing him back!

The kiss itself didn't last very long but it left them both wanting more. There would be more, Harry was sure, but he wanted to see her face. To him, she looked dazed. She looked beautiful. Sexy even.

"You kissed me," she said, slightly disbelieving.

"I did. Why do you sound so shocked? I'm pretty sure you knew what I was about to do when I leaned in."

"I did. I just… You kissed me. It's _real_ now."

"It is," he said, nodding.

She brought her hands down from his neck and held them in front of her as she tried to work through what was happening. "I mean, before, I could discern that things were changing. Even before we left school, we were different, but it was just a thing _over there_ , you know? But now it's _right here_. Right in front of us. We kissed, Harry."

Harry blinked innocently, wisely keeping his mouth shut.

"You're a page ahead," she suddenly said; "what happens now, oh ye ol' Seer?"

"A lot more kissing."

Hermione blushed, her cheeks turning a fierce red. "I'm trying to be serious here."

"So am I."

She sighed. "No you're not. Can you at least try for one second please?"

"I promise you, Hermione, I am being very serious," he said softly, pulling her closer to him until her hands were spread out on his chest. "About you. Whatever this is, I want it. I want _you_."

"But you could have anyone," she pointed out.

"I don't want just anyone," he told her. "You are so much more than _just anyone_ , and I consider myself pretty damn lucky to be able to hold you in my arms right now."

"Harry," she breathed, sounding unsure.

"Listen to me, Hermione," he said, making her look at him. "I won't pretend to know what's going to happen. Nobody can truly know that, but I do know what I _want_ to happen."

"And what's that?" She patted his chest lightly. "And don't mention kissing."

"Damn." He smirked, before leaning in and kissing her cheek. A moment later, he turned the serious that she wanted but hadn't expected. He seemed to age right before her eyes, his eyes growing darker as he addressed his main concern. "I want to be with you but I also want to protect you. If Voldemort were to ever find out just what you mean to me… If he ever used you against me… I'd never forgive myself, Hermione. I would... The things I would do to keep you safe..."

She moved her right hand from his chest to his neck and then to his hair, softly tugging on the messy tufts. "We were never going to be able to have a normal teenage romance, were we?"

"If I survive this War, I promise that we're going to do all the awfully cliche things that people our age are supposed to be doing, okay?"

Hermione pressed her lips together at his use of the word' if.' She had half a mind to scold him but she didn't know what she could say. They didn't _know_ what would happen. That was the truth of it. And now that she knew about the Prophecy… losing him was a very distinct possibility.

"I have to keep you safe," he said, moving his one hand from her waist to touch her hair. Softly, tenderly, he lifted a lock and twirled it around his index finger.

"Is that the same thing as keeping me happy? Because, if you're about to tell me that this can't happen because you've got a deranged psycho killer coming after you; I'm going to hex you to an inch of your life."

He abandoned her hair and gently touched her cheek with his rough fingers. "I'm a little too selfish to let you go now, _Professor Granger._ You make me deliriously happy."

She reached up and kissed his cheek. "So we're really doing this?"

"We are."

"Does that make me your girlfriend?"

He waited quite a while before he responded, mildly surprising her. "Not yet, no."

She blinked.

"A year from now, I don't want our anniversary to be on my birthday. I want us to have our own special day so we can celebrate the right way."

Hermione could barely contain herself and she let out a light squeak.

Harry laughed. "I'm sorry. What was that?"

She looked away from him. "Don't laugh at me, Mr Potter. I can't be responsible for the sounds I make when you say adorable things."

He kissed the tip of her nose. "Duly noted."

She stared into his eyes for a moment, knowing that they couldn't stay in this room forever. They would have to leave at some point, or someone would come to find them. Her fingers moved to his hair again, and she pulled his head down so their lips could meet. As far as kissing him went, Hermione was sure she would never tire of it. She had very little experience in this department but it was easy to just be with Harry Potter. They would discover the physical aspect of their relationship together.

Their first kiss had been somewhat tender, shy maybe. This one was not. For the most part, Hermione had been convinced that she wouldn't like having someone else's tongue in her mouth, but there was something deeply sensual about it. She could even taste the birthday cake from earlier. And the butterbeer. It just made her pull him closer, deepening their kiss.

Without having it spoken aloud, she knew that, once they left this room, they would go back to being just 'Harry and Hermione,' normal best friends that hadn't ever really been normal.

This was one of those moments that belonged to only them.

When Harry pulled away, needing to breathe; he was beaming and his eyes were shining. "You and me, Hermione; we're going to save the world," he said breathlessly.

Before Hermione could respond, her attention was drawn towards the door where someone was trying to turn the handle. Reluctantly, she stepped away from Harry, first wiping his mouth with her thumb. Really, his expression was one of a boy who had just been thoroughly kissed.

"What are we going to say?" she asked as she started for the door.

"I've got it covered," he said confidently, even winking at her. "Open the door, Hermione; and watch your almost-boyfriend work his magic."

Hermione just shook her head as she unlocked the door to find a red-faced Ron Weasley looking rather miffed.

He frowned at the sight of her, which only deepened when he looked past her at Harry. "What's going on here?" he asked rather accusingly.

Hermione turned to look at Harry, silently asking the question.

The raven-haired wizard looked surprisingly grave. He cleared his throat. "Ron, listen, there's something that I have to tell you."

Ron's eyes widened, and Hermione seemed to go pale. He wouldn't, would he?

"You should probably come inside and close the door. There's no telling how you're going to react because, well, I didn't have the best reaction myself."

That just confused Hermione.

Harry sat down on the edge of his claimed bed, and gestured for Ron and Hermione to do the same. Hermione had the urge to go and sit next to Harry but she didn't. Instead, she and the redhead sat down on the other bed and waited.

Harry's eyes flickered towards Hermione for a fraction of a second. It was barely noticeable. "I've been sitting on this for quite a while," Harry began. "It took me a while to accept it fully, though I doubt I really could. I've just come to see it as it is." He took a deep breath, doing very little to calm Hermione's panicked heart. "I suppose the only part of what I now know is that my parents weren't killed for, well, nothing. I didn't tell you before but Dumbledore actually revealed the Prophecy to me."

Hermione felt herself relax, relieved that he wasn't actually about to out them. But, as quickly as she relaxed, she tensed up once more. Nothing was going to be pleasant about this particular conversation.

Ron actually took it rather well, even though he seemed to go paler as Harry continued to speak. There were moments when he looked at Hermione, trying to gauge her reaction. He didn't read her stony expression to be anything other than disbelief, which was good because he probably would have balked at the thought that she knew about the Prophecy before he did.

The trio suffered a painstakingly long silence once Harry was done, but none of them really knew what to say. Harry was worried, really, that Ron would freak out; that he would want nothing to do with him. It would probably crush Harry.

"You just can't catch a break, can you, mate?" Ron eventually said, risking a smile.

Harry let out a relieved breath and returned his friend's nervous smile.

Ron nudged Hermione with his elbow. "We really know how to pick 'em, don't we?"

Hermione's eyes settled on Harry. Really, they'd never really drifted away from him in the first place. "Yes, yes we do."

Ron patted his own knees before he stood up, groaning slightly. "I actually came up here because Dad wanted to find out if you were ready to go, Hermione."

Harry frowned. "Go?"

Hermione looked at Harry. "I have to go home, Harry."

He looked like she had just told him that she was becoming a Death Eater. "What?"

"Don't look so distraught, mate," Ron said, grinning at his friend. "We'll see her when we pick up our supplies in Diagon Alley."

Harry closed his eyes for a moment. That was in more than three weeks! "I thought you were staying?"

Hermione slowly stood up and moved towards him, putting out her hand for him to take. "Come on. Walk me out."

Harry didn't move. He just shook his head.

"You'd think you were six years old, not sixteen," Ron said, laughing. He looked at Hermione. "I'll tell Dad you're on your way down."

When he left, Hermione used her wand to close the door and then slipped into Harry's lap and put her arms around his neck. "I should have told you, I know," she said, looking at his face even if he wouldn't look at her. "They're transferring my grandfather to a London hospital tomorrow. I have to be at home."

Harry really couldn't argue with that, as much as he wanted to. He wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his face in the crook of her neck. "Thank you for coming today," he mumbled against her skin, making her giggle.

"Did you have a good birthday?"

He pulled back so he could look at her. "Despite Moony's news, yes; this has been the best birthday I've ever had."

"And why is that exactly?"

"Because I get to kiss you now," he said happily.

She smiled. "Hmm, I think that I'm going to hold out on that until I get the official title," she said, getting to her feet.

Harry stood up as well. "That's okay," he said sincerely. "As long as you keep writing to me, and calling me. Starting as soon as you get home. Tonight."

"So demanding."

He just grinned.

She grabbed hold of his hand and tugged him towards the door. Before she turned the handle, she stopped to look at him one last time. She studied his face as if she could commit it to memory. She made a mental note to ask him to send her a picture as soon as possible. She leaned forward and kissed his cheek.

Harry closed his eyes at her touch. When he opened his eyes again, she was gone. He couldn't help but smile as he followed her out of the room and down the stairs. He could already hear her saying her goodbyes to the family as he touched down on the ground floor. He stood in a corner and just watched her, her face portraying that polite smile he knew all too well.

Only he could see her happiness. Her eyes were betraying her, and he was rather chuffed with himself. Was that what he looked like? Was that happiness? He didn't even know.

Hermione saved her last goodbye for Harry, who she deliberately didn't hug. She knew she wouldn't be able to let go. Pathetic.

Harry and the rest of the Weasleys followed Mr Weasley and Hermione out of the house and into the starry night. Harry couldn't help but think that she was beyond beautiful under the moonlight. It wasn't even fair.

Once they were out of the Anti-Apparation wards, the group came to a stop and Hermione turned to look at him.

"I'll talk to you soon," she said, giving him a radiant smile that practically floored him. He wouldn't mind having her smile at him like that for the rest of his pitiful life.

A moment later, Hermione was gone. Harry stared at the spot in which she had been standing, and he couldn't help but feel like she had taken a piece of him with her.

And that awfully cliche teenager within him even allowed himself to think that that part was his heart. Totally pathetic.


	6. Chapter 6

_"The ones that love us never really leave us. You can always find them… in [your heart]." - Sirius Black_

 **Chapter Six**

Harry's vacation at the Burrow ended much quicker than he anticipated. A part of him hated that he had to return to the Dursleys' but another part of him was relieved that he would be able to talk to Hermione on the telephone again.

He missed the sound of her voice, and he told her every single day. He hadn't written a letter to her since his birthday, which was mainly because of her gift to him. In her birthday letter, she'd explained that the notebook was the enchanted twin of a notebook that she owned. She mentioned that she'd spent weeks working on the runes, and then had visited Diagon Alley to perform the magic, undetected.

Of course, it was a resounding success.

Now, Harry could write in the notebook and Hermione could see whatever he wrote. She could do the same with hers, and it would appear on his pages. Really, it was quite perfect, but Harry had to admit that he missed the novelty of writing letters. He even told her that it was more romantic. She countered by saying that perhaps he didn't want her to phone him anymore then.

He quickly changed his mind.

The Dursleys weren't particularly happy to see him, but they were less angry. Uncle Vernon didn't even lock Harry in that first night. Harry started to think that maybe his absence was just the same as his presence, so they must not have even noticed.

Hermione kept Harry updated on news about her family. Especially her grandfather. She was vague with the details but Harry could tell that it wasn't good. He was sure of it when she wrote in their books late one night. It was late because Harry was already asleep when he sensed it. Yes. He _sensed_ it.

For some reason, he just woke up and, out of habit, really, he checked his notebook. There was a new entry.

 _I have half a mind to take him to St Mungo's. They could treat him there. They could save him. What if he dies, Harry? What if he dies and there's a treatment right there? How do I just accept that?_

Harry closed his eyes for a moment. He could feel her obvious pain transmitting through the words. Harry didn't even know her grandfather but he knew he would also be a wreck if anything happened to the old man. Her pain was just as much his pain as his was hers. Harry reached for his birthday quill and quickly began to write, his own mind drifting towards Sirius.

 _I know, logically, that you know what you can and cannot do, so I'm not going to tell you that. What I am going to tell you is what you told me. You'll be okay, Hermione. I'll make sure of it._

 _Harry, why are you awake?_

He risked a smile.

 _Why are_ you _awake?_

 _I feel so helpless. I'm usually the one with the plans. I just can't accept that there's nothing I can do. What do I do?_

 _Be with him. I'd imagine it's all grandfathers really want anyway. Seeing and being with his family probably makes him very happy. Speaking from experience, I can confidently say that being with you makes me deliriously happy._

Harry had to wait a few minutes for a reply, but he didn't dare fall asleep. He would wait all his life if he had to.

 _We went to visit him today, and I told him about you. I told him all about the green-eyed boy who has stolen my heart. It was actually quite embarrassing the way I went on, but he just listened. You're a bit like him that way. Of course, you do have your crazy moments, but there's a severity to you that makes you seem older than you really are. Like him, you can be very serious. Broody, my mother calls it. Very endearing, Harry Potter._

Harry was under no illusions that the Hermione he saw at school was vastly different to the Hermione that existed with her family. He didn't know if it was to do with the magical and Muggle parts of her, or if she just didn't know how to be both. Harry even wondered if either of them were even the true her.

Really, he didn't care. He would still love her.

Whoa.

Wait a minute.

 _Love_?

Just whoa.

What did Harry Potter even know about love?

He started to write.

 _I'm pretty sure that you're the one who called me sexy when I got serious._

He could just about imagine her laughing wherever she was. Of course, she'd never said such a thing but he was willing to bet that she wouldn't be able to deny it using the written word.

 _I do find you rather sexy._

Strike one for Granger. Harry could only blink at the words. Yes, they really were there. She'd definitely written them.

Wow. He was definitely in love with her.

 _Still there, Potter?_

He was grinning when he replied, chuckling softly to himself. This was definitely a late night conversation.

 _If you think I'm sexy now, you should see me with my shirt off. Bet you'd like that, wouldn't you?_

 _Next time I see you. I promise. Shirt off, Quidditch pants on. That I'd love to see._

 _Just see? No touching?_

Again, he had to wait several minutes, and he couldn't stop his smirk even if he tried. He loved her and she found him sexy. Could he ask for anything better?

 _I'm trying to think of something shocking to say but I can't think of anything. You've revealed by deepest, darkest secret, Potter. It's true. Now you know. I have dreams of running my hands up and down your perfect body._

Harry had to take a deep, calming breath. Suddenly, he was thankful that they weren't talking on the phone. He was sure that he would have squeaked if he were to speak. Shakily, he penned a response.

 _I live to make your dreams come true. I think it's my life's vocation, as your almost-boyfriend._

 _I really miss you. I wish you were here with me._

Harry did a quick mental calculation.

 _I see you in twelve days. Think you can hold on that long?_

 _Barely._

 _You'll be okay, Hermione._

 _I know. I have you._

 _Yes you do._

 _Goodnight, Harry X_

 _Goodnight, Hermione_

I love you.

* * *

There were very few things that Harry Potter had to look forward to but Hermione Granger changed everything. Every morning, he woke up knowing that he would talk to her, somehow, and it made every day worth it. He grew so used to getting some form of a reply from her that when he hadn't heard from her by lunchtime several days later; his mind immediately went to the worst case scenario.

Death Eaters.

While his aunt was in town, Harry snuck over to Mrs Figg's house where he was met by Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks. They looked particularly concerned, given that Harry very rarely acknowledged their presence.

Even as he stood there trying to tell them that something had to have happened to Hermione; Harry felt helpless. He hadn't given this much thought, had he? Why would they think there was something to worry about because a teenage witch hadn't responded in the past fifteen or so hours?

But Harry _knew_. He knew there was something wrong, and this was all he could do. He had to rely on other people.

"But Harry…" Lupin started to say.

"I know," Harry cut him off. "I know, okay? I know I sound ridiculous and paranoid, but I know there's something wrong. I know it! I have to go to her! I have to see her!"

Lupin put a hand on Harry's shoulder to calm the young wizard down. "Hermione is fine, Harry," he said strongly. "She's safe."

He blinked. "Are you sure?"

"Positive. Moody was on watch this morning. I promise, she is fine. Maybe she's just busy."

Harry knew that wasn't true, but he still nodded his understanding. Hermione might have been safe but she definitely wasn't _fine_. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

Lupin ended up giving him a look that told Harry that he suspected there was much more going on than at first glance. That much was obvious. Harry didn't even care at this point.

Somewhat placated, Harry headed back to No. 4 and headed straight up to his room, abandoning his chores. His mind was spinning with terrible thoughts. He lay on his stomach on his bed and read through their latest conversation, thinking that maybe he'd said something wrong. Had he gone too far?

Really, he'd almost told her that he loved her more times than he could count. Especially on the phone. Anything and everything she said made the words want to come out of their own accord. If he were being particularly honest with himself, he wasn't sure why he hadn't told her yet. Well, he probably wanted to tell her face to face. Yes. That was it. It was the kind of thing you said in person.

Harry must have fallen asleep because, the next thing he knew, it was dark and there was movement downstairs. Harry quickly jumped up, suddenly alert. This was bad form. Anyone could have walked in and found the notebook.

He didn't even check the pages as he stuffed it under his pillow and quickly made his way downstairs. His uncle was in the living room watching television and his aunt was in the kitchen busying herself with some tart of some sort. Harry didn't care where Dudley was.

Harry walked into the kitchen and waited for his aunt to notice him. She practically jumped when she did, yelping for good measure.

"What _are_ you doing?" she hissed.

"I need to use the phone," he said coldly. "I have to make a call. It's important."

She glared at him. "The deal was that you could use the phone, only if you weren't the one making the calls."

"I know."

She narrowed her eyes. "Why didn't you just use the phone while we were out?"

Harry fought the urge to snarl. "That would be terribly rude of me, wouldn't it?" he said sarcastically. "And I'd much rather not deal with that piece of lard on the sofa when the bill arrives."

"I think that's a no then," she said curtly.

He shook his head. "I don't even know why I bother." Without a word more, he left the kitchen and stalked up the stairs. He wasn't even concerned with supper at this point.

Harry fell face forward onto his bed and groaned into the duvet. Absently, he reached for the notebook and opened it to their most recent page. Nothing.

He groaned again as he reached for his quill.

 _Hermione? Are you okay?_

Fifteen minutes later, he scribbled some more.

 _Talk to me, Hermione. Just tell me you're okay._

Harry felt horrible, terrible. He hated this. He hated not knowing. He trusted Moony to tell him the truth. Hermione was important enough. They all knew it.

For Harry, it was a form of torture, really. She was such a part of his everyday life that there was a gaping hole when she wasn't responding to him. There was something going on and he knew that he should have figured it out already. He was sure of it. She needed him.

The next day, he even risked calling Hermione's home but nobody picked up, which worried him to no end. He didn't even care what his uncle would say. Or do. But, a small part of him hoped the call wouldn't show up on the bill. As much as Harry was willing to break the rules; his uncle seemed a little too eager to get his hands on him this summer, for whatever reason.

Disgustingly, Harry had to admit that Uncle Vernon was probably just _waiting_ for Harry to screw up somehow. Harry was just lucky that they hadn't noticed his abandoned chores. It was just another sign of how out of it he was.

It took three days for Harry to figure it out. He was cleaning out the kitchen when he spotted it in the newspaper. The obituaries. Harry almost kicked himself for not figuring it out himself. Just another reason he wasn't in Ravenclaw.

Hermione's grandfather.

Harry read the obituary four times, almost committing it to memory. He tore off the little passage and pocketed it before he finished up with his chores and made his way back to his room. He felt winded whenever he thought about it. Somewhere in this world, Hermione was hurting, and he was stuck here, unable to do anything about it.

She needed him, he was sure of it.

He had plans to make. Hermione would be so proud.

On the Saturday of the funeral, Harry left a short note by the telephone in the entrance hall and snuck out of the house before the sun had even come up. He was using his Cloak of Invisibility, mainly because he knew the Order definitely wouldn't approve of his visiting Norwich. He knew they would classify it as 'unnecessary.'

It was quite the experience getting to his destination using Muggle transportation. Especially seeing as he had very little Muggle money. It all proved to be worth it, though, when he finally arrived at the church in downtown Norwich. He'd never been to the city before but he couldn't even take the time to appreciate it. He was here for one reason and one reason only.

Hermione.

The service had already started by the time Harry entered the church so he slipped into a pew near the back as silently as he possibly could. A few people glanced his way but nobody said anything. To Harry, the church was quite full, as he had expected. Alexander Reginald Freeman seemed like he was a well-loved man, well-respected and very much admired.

While Harry sat, he tried to search the front rows for any sign of a familiar head of hair but he could barely see anything from his position. That was okay. He sat back, relaxed and listened. Hermione was here, he was sure. He would see her eventually.

The service itself was rather beautiful. The eulogies turned him into an emotional wreck and, when he did eventually spot Hermione, he had to force himself not to sprint to her from the back of the church. He even had to grip his seat to stop himself from launching forward.

When it was over, the family exited the church from the front doors, leaving Harry with a dilemma. Could he follow? Would someone stop him? Where were they going?

He _had_ to see Hermione.

"Excuse me, son, but do you need a lift to the house?"

Harry took a moment to realise that there was a man actually talking to him. "Excuse me?"

"A lift. We're all heading back to the Freeman House now. Would you like a ride? It's just me and my wife."

Harry glanced around. He could feel his wand in his jeans' pocket. He wouldn't have to use it, he was sure. "Sure. Thank you."

The man, who introduced himself as Matt, didn't ask Harry that many questions. His wife was introduced as Sandra. All Harry offered was that he was a friend of one of Mr Freeman's grandchildren. Which was true, to some degree, at least.

Harry had never attended a Muggle funeral before so he didn't know how things were done, and Matt seemed to pick up on that so he carefully explained what would happen at the house. They would arrive and the first thing they would do was greet the family and offer their condolences. Harry could believe that. It sounded like the thing to do, and yet he felt rather nervous about it.

What if the reason Hermione didn't talk to him was that she didn't want him here?

Matt led the way into the house once they'd found a parking spot somewhere on the street. Harry barely noticed what was happening as he blindly followed. They were met by more people than Harry guessed could fit in this one room. His eyes immediately searched for Hermione but it quickly became apparent that she wasn't in the front room.

"I'm going to find my friend," Harry told Matt, politely excusing himself after thanking him once more for the lift.

Matt was just as polite, even giving Harry a rather sympathetic smile. Funerals were never pleasant things.

Harry made his way out of the front room and found himself in a much quieter foyer where he was able to gather his thoughts. It all felt like a little too much being here.

But she was here somewhere, and he'd come for her. So, steeling himself, he continued his search. He only asked a handful of people if they knew where he could find Hermione and only one managed to direct him towards the kitchen.

Hermione was in the kitchen, her back leaning against a counter. She was absently biting on the corner of a salt cracker while she stared, unfocused, into the space in front of her. She didn't notice him as he stepped into the kitchen, having to dodge a running toddler who seemed to make a beeline for his legs.

Harry dug his hands in his pockets, suddenly feeling very out of place. There was so much going on in the kitchen but everything about her was perfectly still and quiet. She was wearing a knee length black dress that seemed a little too loose on her. Had she lost weight? Oh Hermione.

He took steps towards her, his eyes focused on her face. It was blotchy from her obvious crying, but there was something else there. Something he liked to believe only he could detect: relief. Relief that her grandfather's pain had ended.

When Hermione did turn her head in his direction, it was as if she didn't see him at first. Her eyes passed over him and then snapped back. She froze.

Harry stopped walking and just looked at her, waiting.

Her emotions seemed to play out on her face, and then she was walking towards him and stepping into his already waiting arms. Fresh tears sprung to her eyes and she just sobbed against his chest while he held her firmly, determined never to let go.

He must have held her for close to seven minutes before they were interrupted by a man's voice saying Hermione's name. Slowly, reluctantly, Hermione extricated herself from Harry's embrace, wiped her eyes and turned to the source of the voice.

The man, Harry noted, looked very concerned. And rightly so. "Sweetheart, is everything okay here?"

Hermione glanced at Harry before taking hold of his hand and stepping towards the man. "Everything is fine, Dad," she said softly.

Dad? Harry's eyes widened. What was she doing holding his hand in front of her father?

"This is Harry," Hermione said.

The man - Hermione's father - looked at Harry for a moment. "From school?" he asked his daughter, even though he already knew the answer.

Hermione nodded.

"Oh," he sounded, fully turning his attention to Harry. He put out his hand. "It's lovely to meet you, Harry. Officially. I'm Michael."

"It's a pleasure to meet you too, sir," Harry said, shaking the man's hand. "My sincerest condolences to you and your family."

"Thank you." He looked at Hermione. "Your mother is looking for you. She's with your nan in the lounge."

Hermione gave Harry's hand a squeeze before she disappeared from the kitchen, leaving her almost-boyfriend alone with her father. Harry did not panic but he did look down at his shoes, waiting for the other man to say something.

Eventually he did. "To be honest, I didn't expect anyone from the magical world to attend," he said kindly. "I'm sure it means a lot to Hermione to have you here."

Harry risked a smile.

"Are you also Muggleborn?"

Harry was surprised by the question and his facial expression must have relayed that.

"It's just, well, you don't seem to stand out like all the other witches and wizards we have encountered before," he explained.

Harry stood up a bit straighter. "I'm not Muggleborn, no. My mother was so I've grown up with Muggles."

He nodded his understanding. "She talks about you a lot," he eventually said; "but she never really talks _about_ you. Does that make sense?"

Harry swallowed. He suspected that he was a large reason why Hermione kept so many things from her parents, and now the truth of it was staring him right in the face. "It can't be easy," Harry said; "trying to juggle such big parts of who she is all the time."

There was a moment where they just looked at each other, each of them acknowledging the other in a very profound way. Harry could tell that Hermione's father knew that he was responsible for the things Hermione never mentioned. The dangerous things.

Dr Michael Granger could tell that the boy before him would do all he could to protect his daughter. He couldn't be sure how he knew this to be true, but he just _knew_. Words remained unspoken but a certain understanding passed between them.

Harry started to feel a lot calmer, even more so when he spotted Hermione on her way back to them. But she wasn't alone. There was a woman trailing her, who Harry noticed had matching brown eyes to his Hermione.

"Mum, I'd like you to meet…" Hermione began.

Hermione's mother cut her off. "Harry."

Harry looked between mother and daughter before he put his hand out. "Dr Granger, it's lovely to meet you."

"Likewise," she replied kindly, shaking his hand. "And it's Jane."

"I'm sorry about the loss of your father," Harry said sadly, his eyes flickering towards Hermione. "From what Hermione has told me, he sounds like he was just the loveliest man."

She looked a bit teary and Harry momentarily regretted his words, but she managed to pull herself together. "Thank you for your kind words, Harry." She looked like she wanted to say something else but Hermione quickly spoke up.

"I think I should introduce him to Nan," she said, grabbing hold of Harry's sleeve. She barely waited for a reply from either of her parents before she tugged him along. Truthfully, she wanted a moment alone with him. Just to… She didn't even know what. She just wanted to be alone with him.

It didn't happen.

Several of Hermione's cousins asked about Harry as soon as they moved into the next room and Hermione, however reluctantly, was forced into introducing him to them all. At a certain point, the introduction changed from 'Harry from school' to 'Harry my boyfriend,' which filled his chest with supreme warmth.

This had to be the best and worst date ever.

When Harry met Hermione's nan, he felt nervous. More nervous than he'd felt meeting her parents. He didn't know what it was exactly but Ruth Freeman just looked like the type of woman who just _knew_ things.

She invited him to sit down with her, and he easily slipped into the armchair just beside her. She sent Hermione to fetch her some tea, which Harry knew was a ruse to get him alone. Clearly, there was something this all-knower had to say to the young wizard.

"She doesn't know I know," Ruth said, eyeing Harry carefully. "She didn't know that I was listening when she was telling her grandfather about you."

Harry swallowed.

"Do you love her, Harry?"

He didn't even hesitate. "Very much."

"You'll protect her?"

"With my life."

Ruth took a deep breath, her eyes prickling with fresh tears. "There's a war coming?"

"Yes."

"You're involved?"

"I'm at the very centre."

She closed her eyes for a moment, wishing the boy had said something else. "She'll follow you, you know?"

"I know."

"There's nothing any of us can do to stop her now."

"I know."

Ruth was quiet for a moment. "She's my youngest, you know?"

"She told me."

"All her other cousins are already married. Some even have children of their own. Will Hermione get to have all of that, Harry?"

"I'll make sure of it."

"Can you promise me that?"

Harry hesitated.

Ruth closed her eyes. "I've always been afraid of the day the magical world would take her away from us," she said sadly. "I was sure we had another two years at least."

"The magical world would never be able to take her away from you," Harry said seriously.

"How can you be so sure?"

"Don't you see the way her face lights up whenever she talks about her family? Her smile is infectious. She could never leave you all behind."

She gently put a hand on his arm. "Clearly, you've never seen the way she looks when she talks about _you_ then."

Harry blushed furiously at that, he even had to look away from Ruth's searching gaze. He calmed himself enough to look back at her. "She'll be okay," he said strongly. "I promise I'll make sure of it. I'm fighting for her future as much as my own, Mam, because there is no future for me without her. There is no life for me where she doesn't survive."

She regarded the boy for a very long time, making Harry rather uncomfortable. "I believe that you believe what you're saying, Harry."

That was enough for him.

"She loved her grandfather very much," she said, as if it were an afterthought. "I'm worried about her above all. But I know she's strong."

"The strongest I know."

Ruth just looked at him for a moment. "She's yours now, Harry."

He knew. Oh, he _knew_. "I'll get her through it," he said strongly, almost daring the great big world to say otherwise.

Nobody would dare defy him.


	7. Chapter 7

_"You have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love… I love… I love you. I never wish to be parted from you from this day on." - Pride and Prejudice (2005 Film)_

 **Chapter Seven**

Finally, Harry and Hermione had their moment alone, even as they stood in a relatively crowded room. They were in a corner and Hermione was looking at him with worried eyes. She stood just in front of him but she didn't trust herself to touch him just yet.

"How did you get here, Harry?" she eventually asked, breaking their silence.

He was already looking at her. "I took the train."

"The train?"

He risked a smile. "It was quite the experience, I'll have you know, because all I had was five Pounds."

Hermione just stared at him. "Wait, what? How?"

Harry reached for her hand, gently hooking their fingers together. "I managed to get to the station fine," he explained; "but then I couldn't afford a ticket."

"What did you do?"

He looked down at their hands, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed. "I broke the law, Hermione."

"What?"

"I used my Cloak and snuck onto the train," he admitted. "The things I would do for you."

Hermione just blinked in surprise, clearly not expecting that answer.

Harry tugged on her fingers, bringing her closer. "All I knew was I had to be here. I had to see you. I had to make sure you were okay. I was worried."

Hermione dropped her own gaze, fighting fresh tears. "I should have written," she said softly, almost whispering. "When the hospital called with the news, everything was just a rush, and we had to get to the hospital, and then we came here, and I ended up leaving the notebook behind.

"I know I could have called. I've got the number engraved in my brain by this point, but I just didn't think that I could bring myself to actually _tell_ you. Like, saying it out loud would make it real, and I wasn't ready for that. I'm still not."

"It's okay," he said soothingly. He used his free hand to wipe her tears away with the pad of his thumb. "I'm here now."

"I didn't want you to have to deal with all of this… not after Sirius. This isn't what you need."

He trailed his fingers across her cheek. "You are what I need, Hermione. You don't have to shut me out. I'm strong enough. I can handle it."

"You shouldn't have to."

"I want to."

She took a shaky breath. "We really have to stop trying to protect each other from each other."

He smiled gently. "There is nowhere on this earth I would rather be than right here, with you."

She looked at him. "I love you." It was said simply, truthfully. There was nothing flowery about it. It was a statement of fact. She loved him. It was just what was; what would always be.

Her admission surprised him but he recovered quickly enough. She sounded so certain; so sure, that Harry didn't even feel nervous. If anything, he felt relieved. "I love you too, Hermione."

For quite some time, neither of them said a word. They just looked at each other, searching and finding the truth of each other's words in the other's eyes. It was overwhelming.

Harry took a noticeable step towards her. "You have no idea how long I've been wanting to tell you that," he admitted. "Every time we spoke, it was as if the words were just fighting to get out. I love you. I love you. I love you."

Hermione felt light-headed. She was feeling so many emotions all at once and, suddenly, all she wanted to do was take him into a dark room and have her dirty way with him. She flushed at her own thoughts and wrapped her arms around his shoulders to hide the evidence.

Harry held her just as tightly, both of them ignoring all the people around them. This was a moment for only them. Something big and terrifying and amazing was happening. There was no going back now. She was the one for forever, he was sure of it. There was nothing childish about these feelings. Hermione was right when she said they wouldn't be able to have a normal teenage romance. Nothing about his feelings was normal or even remotely teenage- _y_.

From now on, and possibly before, he was eternally hers. He would never belong to himself again. He didn't even want to. From this day forward, he would live, breathe and die for Hermione Granger. That was _his_ statement of fact.

Eventually, Harry led Hermione to an empty couch and they sat down next to each other in one corner. Hermione was practically tucked into Harry's side as he held her hands in his own. She rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. It was easy to focus on him. She could hear him breathing and she could even feel the rise and fall of his chest. If she could just focus on him, then the rest of the world didn't seem like such a scary and dark place.

They sat together, in complete silence, as the house slowly emptied of guests. Soon, all who were left were family and close friends. And yet, they still didn't move and they also didn't talk. They did all their talking when they weren't together. Just being with him was what she wanted; what she needed.

Harry sat perfectly still, only rubbing his thumb over the top of her hand or kissing the top of her head on occasion. From her breathing, he could tell that she was fighting sleep, which made him smile ever so slightly.

It felt like hours before someone approached them. It was Hermione's father.

"Hermione, sweetheart," Michael Granger sounded, coming to kneel in front of the young couple and gently shaking his daughter until her eyes opened.

Hermione hadn't been asleep but she'd been straddling the line of unconsciousness. She shifted slightly and sat up straight as she wiped her tired eyes. "Dad?"

"It's getting late," he said softly, fully aware that Harry's eyes were wide open and looking at him. "Dinner is just about ready. I think you and Harry should wash up now." He looked at Harry. "That is, if you're staying, Harry. You are most welcome to, of course."

Hermione felt Harry's body tense up, even more so when he checked the time. It really was getting late. Just from his reaction, she knew just what he had done to get here and she didn't like it.

Harry swallowed. "I should probably just let my relatives know," he said to Hermione's father. "Could I please use a phone?"

"Of course," Michael Granger said, standing up straight. "I'll take you to it."

Harry didn't even look at Hermione as he let go of her hand and rose to his feet. He followed Michael out of the room and into a small den. There was a phone sitting innocently on a table in the centre of the room. Only Harry knew what that innocent phone was about to witness.

Once Michael left him alone, Harry quickly picked up the receiver and immediately started to dial. There was no use putting it off.

"Hello?" It was Dudley.

Harry was mildly relieved by that. "Hey, Dud."

A moment of silence. Then: "Harry! Where the fuck are you?"

He was wonderfully calm. "In Norwich."

"Norwich? What are you doing in Norwich?"

"Attending a funeral."

"A funeral? What the hell, Harry? Why didn't you tell anyone? Mum and Dad are beside themselves! They've been witches and wizards about the house all day, trying to figure out where the hell you are. Dad is about ready to wring your neck."

"I didn't think he cared."

"He doesn't! They're all just fucking pissed at you!"

"Well, you can tell them that I'm all right," he said, somewhat coyly. "I'll be back later. Everyone can calm down now."

"You could've told someone!"

"I just told _you_ ," he said. "And, I did leave a note, you know?"

Dudley huffed. "This crap? All you said was: 'Gone out for a bit. I'm fine. Be back later.' Anyone could have written that!"

"You sound like you care, Dudley. Do you really care?"

"Of course I don't fucking care, Harry! But Dad has been going on and on about what he's going to do to you when you get back. It's not good."

"Well, I don't really care." He didn't. Hermione was worth it. "I'm already ignored, starved and kept locked up; what else is there left to do? And you and I both know your father hasn't laid a hand on me since I was thirteen!"

The gasp that Harry heard didn't come from the phone. It came from somewhere behind him.

He swore internally. "Look, Dud, I've got to go. I'll deal with whatever's going to happen later. Don't wait up." And then he hung up. He kept his hand on the phone and didn't turn around. Hermione would want answers and Harry wasn't prepared to give them. She was never supposed to know. This would change things. This would change everything.

"Harry."

That tone. He was done for.

"Look at me."

Slowly, Harry turned around.

Hermione had one hand on her hip and she was looking at him with a mixture of emotions he couldn't quite read. "I didn't know," she said softly, dropping both her arms and walking towards him. "I mean, I had an idea, based on whatever Ron told me about the bars on your window, but I didn't _know_. You've never told me. Why?"

He swallowed. "It's not exactly something I like talking about," he muttered, wishing that she would just drop it.

"Does Dumbledore know? Does the Order know what it's really like for you?"

Harry knew that he had to say no. He had to assure her that the Order wouldn't keep sending him back to a house in which he was physically and emotionally abused.

Hermione read his silence for what it was. "Those bastards," she hissed.

Harry's eyes widened. She almost never cursed.

"And they even have the guile to think that _talking_ to your relatives would help? I'm sure they just made it worse! Why didn't you tell me?"

"Hermione?" he croaked.

"No, I mean, _now_ , these past few weeks? You could've told me. I could've done something. Harry, you can't go back there."

"I don't have a choice," he said, his eyes narrowing. "I don't have any place else, and it isn't fair to put the onus on the Weasleys. As much as we all try to pretend, the Burrow is _not_ my home. It isn't up to them to keep me safe. Only I can do that."

"And me."

"What?"

"As your best friend, and as your girlfriend; it's my job to keep you safe. You're not going back there. I won't let you."

"Where am I supposed to go then, Hermione?" His tone turned sarcastic, even though he wished it hadn't. "I bet you've got this all figured out then, haven't you?"

She glared at him. "Do you _want_ to go back there?"

"Of course," he replied sarcastically, his tone going a step further and turning harsh. "I have a great time being used as a slave, kept locked behind a heavily bolted door and used as a fucking punching bag whenever my supposed uncle has a rough day at work. I especially love being starved. That's got to be my favourite part. It makes it all so bloody worth it!" Harry didn't even realise that he was crying until Hermione used her slender fingers to wipe the tears from his cheeks.

"You're not going back," she concluded, dropping her hands.

"I have to."

"What will they do to you?"

"It doesn't matter."

"It matters to me."

"I had to come."

"Maybe you shouldn't have."

Harry blinked. "You needed me."

"I always need you."

"Then I'll always come."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

When Michael found them, they were still standing facing each other, neither of them backing down. It was unspoken between them but they both knew that this was something that they could never discuss with her parents. It was too late now. What could possibly be done?

"Everything okay in here?" Michael asked cautiously, easily picking up on the tension between the two teenagers. He looked at Harry. "Was there a problem with your relatives?"

Hermione scoffed and Harry shot her a hurt but disapproving look.

"No," Harry answered Hermione's father. "Just a small misunderstanding. Everything is fine now."

Michael didn't look convinced but he let it drop. "We're just starting to settle down."

"We'll be right there, Dad."

When Michael left, Hermione turned to look at Harry, her expression much softer than earlier. "Listen to me, Harry Potter, and listen well. You don't get to keep things from me anymore. We stop this right now, both of us. If you think I can't handle it, I can. There is nothing you could say and do now that could make me not love you, okay? I'm always going to be here, no matter what, so you don't have to go at it alone ever again. Do you hear me?"

He nodded dumbly.

"Good." She reached up and kissed the corner of his mouth, making him smile.

"It's been so long that your aim is off, hey?" he asked, raising a curious eyebrow. "I definitely need to see you more often."

Hermione felt heat rise up her neck and she had to drop her gaze to stop her full-blown blush. Without a word more, Hermione took hold of his hand and led the way to the dining room where several family members were already seated at the long table. Hermione headed towards a pair of empty chairs and Harry pulled one out for her to sit down. The looks they received were enough to get Hermione's blush from earlier shining through.

"I'll be right back," Harry whispered to Hermione before he left the dining room. He made his way to the kitchen, which was buzzing with the antics of several women. Harry counted five but they kept moving, so he couldn't be sure.

"Harry!" Jane Granger exclaimed when she noticed him standing in the doorway. "Something you need?"

"I was wondering if you needed any help," he said politely.

All movement stopped.

Harry suddenly felt like he said something wrong, and he took a subconscious step back. "I'm sorry. I just, it's the least I can do while I'm a guest in your home."

For another long moment, nobody spoke. Then Jane smiled.

"Of course, Harry. Do you mind taking the potatoes out to the table?" she offered, gesturing to a dish on a counter to her right. "And maybe grab the condiments. Hermione won't eat anything without her tomato sauce."

That much, Harry knew. With a nod, he moved towards the dish of baked potato wedges and carried it out of the kitchen. He just managed to ignore the chorus of voices that followed his exit. Good first impressions were always important.

When Harry reentered the dining room, all heads towards him and he almost missed a step.

Hermione smiled at him. "It's just been incessant questions about you," she explained, which did nothing to calm him. "I keep telling them that you're perfectly capable of answering for yourself."

"If he'd ever come and sit down," a man said. Harry remembered him to be one of Hermione's much older cousins, but he couldn't quite remember his name.

Harry just smiled as he set the potatoes down. He squeezed Hermione's shoulder for a moment before he headed back to the kitchen. The women were still talking about him when he entered and barely stopped as he gathered the condiments for the table. He tucked them in place between his body and forearm, intent on making only one trip.

Back in the dining room, Hermione was gone. His eyes widened for just a moment at the thought of being left alone with all the questions. Harry chose to remain calm. What was the worst that could happen? He'd faced Voldemort and survived; surely he could handle _this_.

He silently set the condiments down, making sure that the tomato sauce was within Hermione's reach. He put the pepper a distance away from her, knowing just how sensitive her nose was.

Thankfully, the family members already seated at the table waited until Harry was sitting in the chair next to Hermione's before they asked their first questions.

"So, Harry…" It was the same cousin from earlier. "Where exactly are you from?"

That was a simple enough question. "Surrey."

"We've never met anyone from Hermione's school before," a different cousin said. She was a girl. Harry remembered her name to be Beatrice. "We were starting to think it didn't exist."

Harry didn't like what that implied but he kept his expression neutral. "It definitely exists," he said. "Hermione is the best student in our year. The smartest for many years, actually." He didn't mention that she was the brightest witch at Hogwarts since his mother. That would require a lot more explaining, he was sure.

"Totally believable," another cousin commented. His name was Robert. "She's always made the rest of us look bad."

"I barely compare," Harry said, his tone turning affectionate. "I probably would have failed everything if it weren't for her."

"Is that it? You're just using her for her brain?" the first cousin asked, his tone turning a little icy.

Harry didn't flinch. "Would you rather I were using her for her body?" he asked, his gaze steel. Nobody responded. "I love everything she is," he said to nobody in particular, though he was quite glad that Hermione and her parents weren't in the room. "There isn't really just one thing. It's everything."

After a bit of silence, one of Hermione's uncles asked a question. "How old are you, Harry?"

"I'm sixteen, sir," he answered.

"He just turned sixteen last month actually," Hermione said as she entered the dining room. She looked like she had washed her face and her eyes were open wide. She had changed out of her black dress and was now wearing blue jeans and a white long-sleeved top.

Beatrice giggled. "That makes you a cougar, Hermione."

"I know," she said, faking a groan as she came to stand behind Harry. She put her hands on his shoulders and massaged them for a moment.

"Your boy-toy," Beatrice commented and the table erupted in mild laughter.

Harry felt his cheeks burn, and he almost yelped when Hermione bent to whisper something in his ear; something he wouldn't dare repeat. Ohh _Professor Granger_...

Hermione slipped into the chair next to him and Harry just managed to gain control of his body enough to stand as she did.

"So, how long have you two been dating then?" Beatrice asked.

Harry and Hermione exchanged a look. "Umm," Hermione sounded. "Well, we've never actually been on a date."

"But you are boyfriend and girlfriend, yeah?" It was Robert, looking just as confused as the rest of them.

Harry decided to explain. "Hermione and I have been friends for years. She's one of my best friends, in fact. At the end of our last school year, something changed between us and, umm, before I could really ask her out, we went home for the summer. But we've been talking and… yeah."

That seemed to satisfy them.

"So, Harry." It was that same uncle. "What do you parents do?"

It was an innocent enough question but it still caused his chest to twist painfully. Hermione took hold of his hand under the table and rested both their hands on his thigh.

"Well," Harry said. "My parents actually died when they were quite young, but I know my father was interested in law enforcement, and my mother was pursuing her tertiary education."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that."

Harry didn't say that it was okay, because it really wasn't. He was orphaned before he even had the chance to form his own memories of his parents. That was not okay. And then he was left with relatives who didn't even see him as a person. _That_ was definitely not okay. And now the Darkest Wizard of possibly history was after him. Couldn't the kid catch a break?

The following questions weren't that probing and Harry thought he handled himself quite well. It helped having Hermione's hand in his, and he squeezed it regularly to show her his appreciation.

Dinner itself was a rather quiet affair, as if the family was suddenly remembering that the patriarch of their extended family was no longer with them. Harry supposed it was easier to focus on their young cousin's boyfriend.

After they ate, Harry and Hermione cleared the table and saw to the kitchen. Hermione was amazed with the way he worked diligently, as he packed away the leftover food into various containers - not closing them, seeing as the food was still warm - and set aside the dishes for washing. She knew his behaviour stemmed from the Dursleys and it continued to break her heart.

When Harry actually started washing the dishes, Hermione stopped him. "I'll do them later, Harry," she said, softly, taking hold of his hands and leading him away from the kitchen sink.

Harry didn't argue. Experience told him that he wouldn't win.

The two of them sat down at the kitchen table and Hermione held his hands on its top. They couldn't do anything, they both knew. Too many people kept walking in and out of the kitchen. Hermione even went as far as to think that her family kept sending a new person in, hoping they would catch the young couple in a compromising position.

No such luck.

They talked in hushed voices. Hermione let him know that she didn't want him to go back to Privet Drive but she understood that he had to. Whatever awaited him, well, she tried not to think about it. The Order was around. They wouldn't let anything happen to him, would they? If they vowed to protect him from Death Eaters, then they could protect him from his uncle.

At a certain point, Harry said that he had to go. He'd made note of the last trains of the night and it wouldn't do to end up missing them all. He could get away with catching that very last one.

Hermione squeezed his hands. "Okay, I'll drive you."

"What?"

She giggled. "Don't look so alarmed."

He decided not to comment as she got up, pulled him to his feet and led the way out of the kitchen. They found Hermione's father in the main living room.

"Dad, do you think I could drive Harry to the train station?"

Michael Granger looked up from his newspaper and eyed the two teenagers carefully. He had half a mind to tell his daughter that he didn't mind driving them but a pointed look from his wife told him that his idea wouldn't be well-received by all parties involved.

So, sighing, Michael reluctantly agreed. "The keys are on our dressing table."

Hermione merely nodded, forcing herself not to show her father her excitement.

While Harry bid farewell to her family, Hermione retrieved the keys, her driver's permit and a light jersey. Harry was already waiting by the front door when she returned from upstairs. He was standing with her parents. They all looked very serious but nobody seemed to be saying anything.

"Ready to go?" Hermione asked as she approached them.

Harry just nodded.

Jane Granger smiled at Harry. "You're always welcome to visit, Harry," she said kindly. "Oxfordshire is a lot closer than Norwich. We'd all love to see you."

"I'd like that too," Harry said politely. "Thank you for having me today and, again, I'm sorry for your loss."

Jane gave Harry a hug, and she immediately noticed the way he stiffened in her hold. She quickly released him and cast her daughter a worried look. Hermione just shook her head, promising some form of an explanation later.

"Go on then, you two," Michael said. "Don't want Harry to miss his train. Let us know when you get home safely, okay?"

Harry said his final goodbyes and then Hermione was ushering him out the door, down the driveway and into the passenger's seat of their family car. It was a white Mercedes with comfortable leather seats. Harry fiddled with the seat's position while Hermione started the car and did all her standard checks. He found it all rather amusing.

"Don't laugh," she said, eyeing him. "I'm responsible for your life right now."

He sat up straight. "Can you even drive?"

"I have a permit, don't I?"

"Not what I asked."

She glared at him. "It's automatic. Doesn't require much. You're safe, I can assure you."

"I'll believe it when we arrive at our destination in one piece."

Before Hermione shifted into gear, she had a quick look around to make sure nobody was watching. She couldn't trust her family not to peek through the curtains to see them head off. And, if they were indeed looking, they were about to get an eye-full. Hermione reached for Harry's shirt and tugged him towards her.

He barely had time to be speak before her lips were on his. Harry's surprise was swallowed up by Hermione's mouth and he immediately found himself smiling into her eager kiss. He reached for her as well, wanting her closer, but being in a car made that difficult.

When Hermione pulled away, she could barely breathe. "I have literally been waiting all day to do that."

He ran a hand through his hair. "Think you can just kiss me whenever you want, huh?"

Hermione just winked at him as she shifted the car into Reverse.

"You're taking this boy-toy thing a little too seriously," he muttered, straightening his shirt. There was a creased chunk where she'd grabbed at the fabric. Hermione and her hands.

The drive to the train station didn't take all that long. It was rather late. But Harry still had quite a while to wait until his train departed. He wasn't looking forward to what was awaiting him back at the Dursleys'. Not only would he have to deal with his fuming uncle, but he was sure the Order would have a few choice words for him as well.

They'd say that his actions today were terribly irresponsible.

He didn't even care. How could he? He was here, with Hermione, and it was everything.

And, if he were really being diligent, he would point out that the Order would have known exactly where he was if they really were keeping an eye on Hermione. He made a mental note to bring it up. How could Lupin have lied to him?

Hermione pulled into the parking lot in next to no time. One of the streetlights wasn't working so she parked closest to it, burying them in darkness. Hermione handed him some Muggle money, which Harry took without any complaints. A moment later, he was out of the car and heading into the station without her.

Hermione didn't have to wait long. She was lost in her own thoughts when he tapped on the window for her to unlock the doors. Once he was safely inside, he handed her his ticket. She couldn't really read the fine print but she noted down the time of departure.

"Shift your seat back," Hermione told him.

"What?"

"Your seat, Harry. Shift it back as far as it can go."

Harry was smiling like a schoolboy as he did what he was told, his mind already imagining what she wanted to do.

His imagination was pitiful next to the real thing.

Hermione was barely embarrassed as she moved from her own seat and into his lap, straddling him. Her fingers immediately moved to his hair and the sound he made just urged her on. When their lips met, it felt like lightning shot up her spine. She pressed hard against him and he groaned unintelligibly.

Harry's hands were on her back, and then under her top, caressing her bare skin. Under his fingers, she felt warm and soft and amazingly smooth. All he was thinking about - if he was actually thinking - was that he loved her. He loved her.

He fucking loved her.

When Hermione's hands snaked under the fabric of his t-shirt, Harry Potter ceased to think. Her fingers travelled up the muscles of his abdomen, featherlight and surprisingly gentle. He didn't think that anything could feel so good.

"Take them off," he growled, surprising them both.

Hermione didn't even hesitate. Harry lifted his arms up, and Hermione pulled both his shirt and t-shirt up over his head in one move. His collar got stuck on his ear, which made them both laugh, but soon the clothing was gone, temporarily forgotten about.

For a moment, Hermione just stared at him, taking it all in. She'd been under no illusions that his body was impressive, but to actually see it… It was quite the experience.

"Are you just going to look?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Or are you going to touch?"

Hermione just shook her head, letting out a long breath, before she attacked his neck with renewed vigour, sucking on his skin until he was sure she would leave a mark.

She did.

When it was finally time for Harry to board his train, he was completely red in the face, blushing at the memory of just what they had done to each other in her _parents'_ car. There were random scratch marks on his neck and back that Hermione tried her best to hide, lifting his collar up to hide the evidence.

It was no use, really. His face gave them away. He looked utterly bewildered and his hair was a right mess, sticking up at the oddest angles. Her hands had literally touched every inch of his upper body. Hermione thought he looked adorable, even though he definitely hadn't been doing adorable things to her earlier. Her lips were swollen and red and she was sure her breasts would be aching in the morning.

"Here's your ticket," Hermione said, handing him the little yellow rectangle once they were on the correct platform. The station was quiet, practically empty of people. Definitely nothing like King's Cross Station.

Harry pocketed the ticket and focused his eyes on her face. "Are you okay?" he asked softly, reading into her expression in a way only he could.

"I don't want you to go."

"I'm going to see you in a few days. It'll fly by, you'll see," he assured her.

"That does nothing to make me feel better," she muttered, realising that she sounded like a toddler. She shook her head at her own tone.

Harry drew her into a loose hug, absently placing a kiss against her forehead. "I promise, in next to no time, you'll be able to have your wicked way with me once more."

Hermione laughed despite her furious blush. "You're just so delicious," she said, sounding quite seductive.

"So you said, repeatedly."

Hermione stood up straight so she could look at him. "Are you complaining?"

"Never."

She smiled at him. It was the last smile he would see before he climbed onto the train. He'd kissed her one last time before boarding, and she'd whispered something he didn't hear.

But he knew.

 _I love you too, Hermione._

Harry's goofy smile didn't disappear until he arrived on Privet Drive. He could literally still feel Hermione's fingers on his body and it kept shooting shivers up and down his spine. If he'd known this was what it felt like… well, he definitely would have kissed her the moment she woke up from Dolohov's Curse.

He shook his head.

Damn.

Hermione and her hands.


	8. Chapter 8

_"There is no chance, no destiny, no fate, that can hinder or control the firm resolve of a determined soul." - Ella Wheeler Wilcox_

 **Chapter Eight**

Harry's welcoming party was almost ridiculous. There were so many members of the Order waiting for him that Harry actually felt embarrassed. Damn. They must have been beside themselves.

Harry barely made it up the pathway to the front of the house when he was surrounded by witches and wizards in hauntingly dark robes. They all wore grim expressions and it brought back flashbacks of Little Hangleton that had him shuddering.

"Harry." It was Lupin.

Harry's eyes flickered towards the man. "Professor."

"Where have you been?"

"Where do you think I've been?" Harry asked, his tone cold and calculating.

"Harry?" It was Tonks' turn. "I don't understand. You know that you can't just leave. That was irr…"

Harry cut her off. "If you're about to call me irresponsible, save it," he said curtly. "I was careful. I left and I came back unharmed, didn't I?"

"That's not the point, and you know it, Harry," Lupin said.

"Then what is the point? Why are you all standing here, ready to chastise me? I did what I had to do. It's done, and now I'm back."

It should have been enough, but he could feel the air turning electric. If someone ended up saying something he didn't like, he would say things in return.

"I have every right to visit whomever I want," Harry added. "And if you really were paying attention; you would know exactly where I went."

Lupin blinked.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Don't ever lie to me about Hermione again," he said clearly, unquestioningly. "I might be your unwanted responsibility but she is _my_ responsibility. Simple." He stepped back. "Now, if you'll all excuse me, I've had quite a long day."

Without a word, Harry turned and started further up the pathway. He entered the house as silently as he could and made his way up the stairs. He was surprised when he found his uncle standing in his own bedroom's doorway. Harry didn't say a word as he made his way to the door to his own room.

Vernon watched him carefully. Then, before Harry could close the door, he said one sentence. It was enough to send a distinct ripple of fear down Harry's spine. "I will deal with you in the morning."

Harry was certain that he would.

* * *

Hermione was waiting for Harry in front of Flourish & Blotts in Diagon Alley. He could see her from his position in a crowd of people walking towards the famous bookshop. She looked rather antsy to him, her eyes darting around, clearly searching for him.

She was going to kill him, he was sure of it.

When she spotted him, her face lit up and Harry practically tripped over himself at the sight. He must have grimaced because her radiant smile immediately turned to a look of worry.

"Harry," she said simply, once he was close enough, and it was just about his undoing. On any other day, he was sure she would have already hugged him but she could clearly see that he was in considerable pain. "Harry," she said again.

He managed a smile. "Funny story, babe," he said, keeping his arms close to his body. "There was a gardening accident."

"Don't you dare lie to me, Harry Potter."

She was mad. He could tell she was _really_ mad, her nostrils were even flaring dangerously. "I'm not lying," he said defensively. "There really was a gardening accident. There was this rake, you see, and..."

She stepped towards him. "Harry?"

He must have winced in fear of her touching him because her expression turned to something he'd never seen before. It wasn't even just anger anymore but it was definitely something fierce.

"Never again," she hissed. "I don't care what you say or what they say, you are never going back there. Ever. Do I make myself clear?"

Harry couldn't even answer her. Her eyes were blazing with unspent anger and he was actually afraid of what she might do. "It's my own fault though."

"And that makes it all right then?" she snapped back.

He swallowed.

She shook her head, clearly disgusted. "Come on," she said, starting to lead the way away from the bookshop. Harry didn't ask any questions as he followed, just managing to hide his limp. It took him a while to figure out that they were actually leaving Diagon Alley. Once in the Leaky Cauldron, Hermione moved towards Tom who was standing behind the bar.

He smiled at Hermione, but even he could see that she was a girl on a very important mission.

"Tom, do you have any rooms for us?" she asked, cutting straight to the chase.

"Three should be free," he said, already handing her a key, no questions asked.

She took it from him, mumbling a quick thank you. "Tom, will you please send Ron up to the room when he gets here?"

"Of course, Hermione."

"Nobody else. _Just_ Ron."

The implications of that last instruction were not lost on the bartender, but he didn't comment. He merely nodded, and watched as Hermione Granger led Harry Potter up to a secluded room.

Once they were safely locked behind door number three, Hermione turned to Harry and said one simple word: "Strip."

His jaw dropped. "What?"

"Take off your clothes, Harry. I want to see."

He shook his head, absently stepping away from her. "No, Hermione. No."

"If you don't do it; _I'm_ going to, so decide now: strip or make me do it for you."

Harry just stared at her. He could tell she was serious and he definitely didn't have the strength to fight her off if she did in fact come at him. He didn't think that he would survive her knowing though… He didn't want her to see. She _couldn't_ know. There was no telling what she would think of him then.

"Hermione, please," he practically begged. "I'm fine. Honestly, I'm fine."

"Stop it!" she snapped. "I should never have let you go back there. You should have stayed with me. I _knew_. I knew this would happen and yet I still let you get on that train. If it's anyone's fault, it's mine."

"Hermione," he cried, his voice cracking.

"Let me see, Harry," she said, her own voice turning teary. "Let me help."

"You can't. Just leave it alone, please."

"I can't leave it alone. You know that. I won't. You know I won't."

When she stepped towards him, he gave in, absently stepping away from her once again. "Okay, okay," he said, gingerly lifting his arms. "Just give me a minute. It may take me a while." He wasn't kidding. It had taken him close to half an hour to get dressed that morning, and he had even started crying twice during the process.

Harry started with the buttons of his shirt, which was slow going. This was the easy part, he told himself, and it made him scowl. Once all his buttons were done, he had to take it off, and he just couldn't bring himself to do it. It just hurt too much, and he was determined not to cry in front of her. He looked at Hermione, who was already looking at him.

Silently, she moved towards him.

Harry dropped his gaze when she was close enough. He didn't want to see her face when she saw.

Gently, Hermione took his shirt off his shoulders, and the oversized excuse for clothing dropped to his elbows. She moved around him to help get it fully off before she dropped it to the ground and kicked it aside.

"Look at me, Harry," she said, moving to stand in front of him again. "I have to know. This won't change anything."

"Can you promise me that?" he whispered, sounding broken.

"I can and I will. I promise I will still love you."

It did very little to calm him but he didn't fight her when her fingers moved to the hem of his large t-shirt. Hermione was surprisingly steady and careful as she started to pull it up. Her eyes widened at the deep, dark purple bruises on his abdomen and then his chest, but she didn't say anything. Harry had to bend his right arm to get it out of the arm hole, and the rest of the t-shirt came off on his left side, sliding to the ground, and leaving him bare for her to see.

Hermione's eyes filled with tears. "Oh Harry. What did he do to you?"

Harry looked down at his own body. It looked a lot worse than it did the day before. Damn. She probably thought his uncle had beaten him to an inch of his life.

Well, he had, in a way. Harry had welcomed death at some point, when the pain had become too much. The psychological terror had paralysed him, and he hated himself even more for his inability to fight back.

Harry watched her study him clinically. He could just imagine her counting his bruises, most from his obviously cracked ribs. He hated to think what she would say if she looked at his back.

Hermione let out a flurry of swear words when she walked around him. Even Harry blushed at some them. She literally swore bloody murder.

"What were you saying about that rake?" Hermione asked.

His explanation only angered her further. The bruises on his back were from being hit with the handle of the rake. He was sure there were up to fifteen red lines along his back that made sleep entirely uncomfortable. She definitely wouldn't appreciate it if he were to say that though.

"And your legs?" Hermione eventually asked, somehow managing to get a hold of herself.

"They're fine," he lied.

She noticed. There was absolutely nothing sexual about the moment Hermione reached for the button of his jeans. Even the zipper sound would haunt him for the rest of his life.

"This is so not how I imagined this happening" Harry muttered, and Hermione shot him a disapproving look.

Once his jeans were undone, they simply dropped to the ground, revealing his scarily pale legs. His briefs stopped just below his bottom, and he couldn't help feeling a bit embarrassed. For the most part, his skin beneath his knees was untouched, save for a few sporadic bruises. But above his knees...

Hermione had to look away for a moment to compose herself. The rake. That miserable excuse of a human being actually _used_ a rake on him. From what Hermione could tell, he'd drawn on Harry's skin with the rake's end, puncturing the surface and leaving countless thin lines along his thighs.

She took a deep, calming breath and reached for her wand. With a flick of her wrist, she summoned everything from Harry's pockets and set them down on the table. Then, another flick and Harry's discarded clothes vanished. He barely had it in him to protest. He just stood there in his underwear as she ran her own diagnostic spells over him. Then, without asking permission, Hermione turned to healing spells. She literally watched the pain in his eyes lessen with every word she said.

When Harry started to get drowsy, Hermione tucked him into the only bed in the room and watched as he slowly slipped into unconsciousness. She managed to hold it together until she was sure he was asleep. She then moved to a corner of the room and dropped to the ground as she started to sob uncontrollably.

It just wasn't fair.

And, as bright as she was, she just couldn't bring herself to understand how another human being could possibly hurt another that way. At least, with Voldemort, she could almost understand his desires. He was drunk with power and his own supremacy that he would defeat all those who stood in his way. But Harry's uncle… that didn't make sense to Hermione. How could one person hate another so much?

Hermione was still in her corner, quietly crying, when there was a knock on the door. Before she stood up, she quickly used a spell on herself to get rid of the evidence of her tears. Harry needed her to be stronger.

"Who is it?" she asked, standing behind the door, her wand ready.

"It's Ron."

"Are you alone?"

"Yeah."

She quickly unlocked the door, grabbed the front of his shirt and roughly pulled him into the room. She locked the door once more, even silently warding it.

Ron was looking at her quizzically when she eventually turned to him. He scratched the top of his head in thought. "Umm, Hermione, just what is going on? And why is Harry asleep? Is he naked?"

Hermione had to laugh at her friend. She really did miss him sometimes. "Maybe you should sit down."

He paled at that. The last time he'd heard either she or Harry say that, he'd learned about the Prophecy. What could she possibly tell him now?

Ron did not take the news well. As Hermione spoke, detailing all that she already knew; Ron's face turned red with his building anger.

"We have to do something, Hermione," he eventually said.

"I know."

"Is it my fault?" he asked sadly. "I mean, if we hadn't gone to visit Charlie, maybe this wouldn't have happened?"

"We both know Harry wouldn't let you think that."

"But you think that it's your fault," Ron pointed out. "What did Harry say about that?"

Hermione, surprisingly, had no response to that.

"I know that you probably already have a plan so what do you need me to do?"

Hermione smiled gratefully. From her bag, she pulled out a yellow post-it pad and a pen, to which Ron just gaped. Wizards and their archaic ways. "I need you to pick up a few potions," she said, writing the names down for him. "And Harry's going to need some clothes. Nothing fancy. Just something to wear when we walk out of here."

"And food," Ron offered.

Hermione laughed lightly. "How could I forget?" she humoured him. "Treacle tart is his favourite."

"I did know that," Ron said, getting to his feet. "I really did."

Hermione also stood up. "Harry calls this thing that we do Harry-management," she said. "I don't quite know if he likes it or not."

"Doesn't matter," Ron said, glancing at his sleeping best friend. "It's what he needs. If the people who are supposed to be responsible for him can't be bothered to do their jobs the right way, then someone has to. And who better then the two people who love him the most in this world."

Hermione had to give him a hug. She couldn't stop herself.

Ron wasn't even surprised. "He'll be okay, Hermione," he assured her.

Her eyes were teary when she released him but she managed to hide them by reaching into her bag again. She pulled out an enchanted money bag. "It's Harry's emergency fund," she explained as she handed it to Ron. "With Voldemort on the loose, I insisted he have it prepared."

"Why do _you_ have it?" Ron asked. Then, thinking twice, he shook his head. "Actually, never mind, that's a stupid question. Where he goes, we go. End of story."

Hermione might have hugged him again but she didn't. Instead, she unlocked the door for him and watched him disappear down the corridor for a while. When she closed the door, she adjusted her ward ever so slightly. She'd written the runes for it herself, and she was convinced her professor would be quite proud if ever it was found out.

Hermione moved to sit down on the bed and leaned her back against the headboard. Her eyes were on Harry but she wasn't really seeing him. Her mind was already running through everything they could do from now on. Really, Hermione wanted to take him home with her, keep him safe where she could protect him from all the great big world had to offer.

It amazed her, really, that asleep beside her was the boy who fought off Voldemort's possession. In his element, this very boy could hold off the Darkest Wizard alive, and yet… She could only wonder just what psychological scarring that family had left on him.

Hermione's thoughts were interrupted by a knock on her door. She knew it wasn't Ron. It was too soon for him to be back and that definitely wasn't what his knock sounded like.

"Who is it?" Hermione asked, assuming the same position as earlier.

"Tom."

"Are you alone?"

"Yes."

She opened the door. Indeed, there Tom stood, looking rather worried. "What's wrong?"

"There are people downstairs," he said, his eyes telling her just what he thought of those people at this point. "They want to see Harry."

Hermione nodded once. "I'll be right down."

Tom gave her a light smile and then he hurried away. Hermione closed the door and tried to gather her thoughts. She knew that there were things she wouldn't be able to stop herself from saying. The anger she felt wouldn't just go away without it happening. She was prepared for the consequences.

She cast one last look at Harry. He would be okay. She would make sure of it.

Hermione left the room quietly and made her way downstairs. Indeed, there were several Order members waiting, including their fearless leader, Albus Dumbledore. Hermione looked accusingly at Lupin, Tonks and Moody. They were supposed to be responsible for Harry's safety.

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, getting her attention. "Is Harry okay?"

That did it. She'd thought maybe she could hold on enough to be polite, but she couldn't. "Of course he's not okay," she practically spat, surprising all those around. "For such an intelligent wizard, you do ask stupid questions."

Tonks even gasped at that.

Hermione stared hard at the metamorphmagus. "You," she pointed roughly. "And you." Lupin. "How could you let this happen? How could you let that man hurt him like this?"

Lupin frowned. "What?"

"I bet you don't even know," she said, shaking her head. "You're all so bloody focused on keeping him safe from Voldemort that you can't even see that the greatest danger is in that damn house!"

Nobody said anything for a moment.

Hermione could feel her own anger continuing to build. "Where were you?" she asked them all, her tone painfully accusing. "Where were you when he was hurting? Why didn't you see? Why are you choosing not to see?"

"Hermione?" Lupin was looking at her like he didn't recognise her.

Really, at this point, Hermione was sure she didn't even recognise her own self. She'd never felt this rage before; this totally uninhibited desire to protect another human being before. Harry was now her responsibility, even if he insisted that he was fine.

How was he _fine_? Did he even know what that word meant?

"Did you really think that _talking_ to his relatives would work?" Hermione asked, her tone layered in sarcasm. "Really? Are you that naive, or was it wishful thinking? You had to know! You do know; I know you all know. Haven't you seen? Why can't you see?" She could feel herself losing control and she had to force herself to take a deep, calming breath.

"I didn't know," Lupin said.

"It's your job to know!" The anger was back, and it was directed at her once favourite professor. "You lied to him," she said, sounding disappointed. "He told me, you know? He tells me everything. What did you think would happen when he found out you didn't actually know I was fine? It's partly my fault, I know. He shouldn't have come to see me the way he did, but you should have known what that man would do to him when he came back. You were there. _I wasn't._ You should have done something." Hermione's own guilt came into play but she just about managed to push it aside. For now.

There was a long moment of silence as Hermione's words hung in the air, clouding them all with their truth.

It was Dumbledore who spoke up. "I want to see him, Miss Granger."

"I don't really care what you want," she spat back. "All you do is use him to further your own agenda that apparently none of us are even allowed to know about. Doesn't really instill much trust, now does it, Headmaster? He tells me _everything_ ," she made a point of saying again. "And, seeing as you're here, I should probably say well done on picking the perfect time for telling him about the Prophecy. I really must commend you. If you'd just told him sooner, maybe he would have understood; maybe Sirius would still be here. And that whole prefect thing. That was just awful and you know it.

"What is it with you? Do you want to make him so small, so dependent on you, that he'd be willing to do whatever you asked when the time comes, huh? Well, I won't let you do that to him. Harry will make his own choices from now on, and I intend to protect him from the likes of you and your manipulations.

"So, no, you don't get to see him; you don't get to talk to him or make any more false promises. He's had enough of people pretending to care about him." Hermione's eyes focused on Lupin. "He loves you, Moony, you know that? You're really all he has left, now that Sirius is gone. He has nobody left. Your friends' son... What would they say if they were here? He trusted you above all else, but you lied to him. He's too precious for that. He's too good for the lot of you."

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione turned her glare on her Headmaster. "Where _were_ you?" she asked, her voice cracking from the strain of her own emotions. "Where were you when that woman was torturing him last year? Why didn't you do anything when Snape repeatedly attacked his mind, made him feel like a failure? Why didn't you keep him safe from that Snake? Why didn't you believe in him? Why did you take things away from him?" The questions started out accusingly but they quickly turned to sounding desperate. "Why aren't you protecting him? He looks up to you. He believes you do no wrong, but look where we are, Professor. You should be ashamed of yourself; allowing James and Lily Potter's son to be treated this way. Harry Potter is upstairs right now, beaten and raw from the hands of a Muggle. A bloody _Muggle_. What's the point of being afraid of Voldemort, when the very people who cause the most harm are standing in this room right now?"

In her disgust, Hermione turned away and started for the stairs. Dumbledore grabbed hold of her wrist to stop her.

"Miss Granger, I just want to see him."

When Hermione looked at him, there was fire burning in her eyes. Her pupils were blazing. Dumbledore even took a step back, quickly releasing her wrist. "Harry is asleep! I will not wake him for your will. If he wants to see you when he wakes up then he will. But, if I have anything to do with it, you won't be seeing him until it's completely necessary." She narrowed her eyes. "And don't bother trying to follow me. You're too old to get through the wards on the door." Then, without a word more, she turned on her heel and rushed up the stairs. She was made aware of someone following her, and she spun around quickly, her wand already drawn.

"Easy there," Ron said, raising his hands in innocence.

Hermione let out a shaky breath, her adrenalin coming down rather dramatically. "How much of that did you hear?" she asked, suddenly feeling embarrassed.

"Enough."

She just shook her head as she continued on their way to Room 3. Harry was, thankfully, still asleep. "Did you manage to get everything?" she asked, as she watched Ron set several items down on the table in the room.

"I did," he assured her. "I even got two of all those potions you wanted, just in case. And the treacle tart."

Hermione just about managed to smile at him.

"Why don't you sit down, Hermione?" he offered. "All that lecturing must have taken a lot out of you."

"Did I go all Professor Granger on them?"

Ron nodded as he too sat down in one of the armchairs. "I can't believe you said all that to our Headmaster," he said.

"I can't either."

"It needed to be said. Protective wards or no, there are safer places for Harry Potter in this world… Like the Chamber of Secrets."

Hermione laughed despite herself. "Even the Forbidden Forest."

Ron just smiled. "So, what happens when he wakes up?"

Hermione sobered at that question. "Well, I'll administer the potions, heal him some more. He'll probably have to sleep it all off again, so we'll spend the night here." It came out easily enough but, once it was said, she balked a bit.

Spend the night. Here. With her boyfriend.

Ron missed her apparent panic and just nodded.

She took a deep, calming breath. "I want to take him to my house but even I know that it isn't safe enough. Sure, it would be great to hide him in the Muggle world, even for a few days, but I'm not willing to chance that without having suitable wards in place."

"He'll come to the Burrow then," Ron said. "You both can, if you want. Mum's always said there are open invitations to the both of you. And it's got good wards. Bill did them himself."

Hermione nodded her agreement. "It's not a permanent solution, you know?"

"I know. I always get the feeling that he thinks he's imposing whenever he's around. He isn't, of course, but I suppose he can't help what he feels."

"I'll think of something," she eventually said.

"You always do."

Their attention was caught by the sound of Harry moving. Hermione was out of her seat in an instant. She was sitting on the edge of the bed when his eyes finally opened and settled on her, his glasses already on thanks to Hermione.

"Hey, babe," he said, sounding groggy.

Hermione's eyes widened, her nostrils flaring, and she gestured to a point behind her.

Harry's gaze drifted from her face to Ron's, who was standing behind Hermione, watching his two best friends quite carefully. Harry, barely missing a beat, said; "Hey, babe number two." He yawned for good measure but even Hermione knew that the redhead wouldn't let this go.

"How are you feeling?" Hermione asked Harry, moving them along.

"Much better, actually. It doesn't hurt as much to breathe."

She sighed out of relief.

"Thank you."

"You're not going to be thanking me in a minute," she said. "I've got potions for you."

He chuckled. "Yay me."

Harry was a good sport about the potions even though he couldn't stop pulling disgusted faces. When the Sleeping Potion took effect, Hermione couldn't stop herself from leaning forward and kissing his forehead. She removed his glasses and set them on the nightstand.

For a moment, she didn't move. She didn't want to.

"Hermione?"

She stood up and returned to her armchair, where Ron was watching her rather intently. "Ronald."

He smirked. "Babe number two has a question for babe number one."

She just shook her head. "What?"

"He totally called you babe, right? I didn't imagine that, right?"

Hermione sighed. "Yes he did. No you didn't."

"It all makes sense now," Ron said, leaning back and folding his arms across his chest. "I mean, if you could see the way that you look at him sometimes. It's as if…"

"As if what?"

"As if you love him."

Hermione's gaze met Ron's. "I do love him."

Ron let out a long breath, still unsure about what he felt about that. "Does he know?"

She nodded.

"How long?"

"How long has he known or how long have I loved him?"

"Both."

"He's known for about a week. Officially, at least." She glanced at Harry. "As for how long I've loved him, I'm not sure. Sometimes, when I really think about it, I feel like I've always loved him. But I've allowed myself to acknowledge it this summer."

"So you two are together now?"

Hermione nodded.

"Were you going to tell me?" There was nothing accusing in his tone, which surprised her. He sounded more curious than anything.

"We were," she replied. "Today actually. We wanted you to know before we got back to school. He was a bit worried about how you would take it. I said that you would be okay. Nothing about our trio is going to change."

"Just that you and Harry now kiss and what not," he said, faking a shudder.

Hermione laughed lightly. "We won't do any of that in front of you, if you're worried about that."

"That would be greatly appreciated."

"So you're okay with it?"

Ron spent a moment thinking hard about it, and Hermione thought it best not to rush him. This was definitely not how she wanted her one best friend to find out about her relationship with her other best friend. "I reckon I'm all right with it. I feel like I should be happy for you both but I'm still processing. You said that nothing's really going to change, right?"

Hermione nodded. "Nothing much, at least."

"What does that mean?"

She grinned at him. "You'll just have to get used to the girlfriend card trumping the Quidditch one."

"You wouldn't?"

"I so would."

"You're evil, I tell you."

Hermione relaxed into her own armchair. She felt particularly helpless sitting there doing nothing. She had plans to implement. She took a deep, reassuring breath before she rose to her feet.

"Where are you going?" Ron asked.

"I have a few things to do," she said. "He'll probably be asleep for a couple more hours. You don't have to stay if you don't want to."

"I'll stay."

"There's no saying how long I'll be," she informed him.

"It's okay, Hermione. I've got this."

Absently, she started to gather her things and put them into her bag, which included the emergency fund. This definitely counted as an emergency. Once she was ready, she walked towards Harry. For a moment, she felt guilty for even considering leaving him, but she knew this was important. And, it was best she did what she needed to do while he was still asleep.

"He'll be okay, Hermione," Ron said, sensing her hesitation. "I promise, I will let you hex me if anything happens to him. Even if he gets a papercut."

She turned to look at the redhead. "You're an idiot, Ronald Weasley."

He grinned. "I know. And yet, you trust me enough to leave your precious cargo under my care."

"I do."

"Good. Now run along and save the day. Your boys will be okay."

Hermione had to hand it to him. She'd never imagined feeling at all calm being away from Harry, but Ron just about managed it.

He really _was_ a wizard.


	9. Chapter 9

_"There are all kinds of love in this world but never the same love twice." - F. Scott Fitzgerald_

 **Chapter Nine**

To Ron, it felt like Hermione was gone for years. The problem was that he had nothing with which to keep himself occupied. He spent some time conjuring random objects to pass the time but even that lost its allure rather quickly.

When Harry did finally wake up again, Hermione wasn't back yet. Ron practically leaped across the room to sit on the bed's edge. He handed Harry his glasses.

"Thank you for joining us," Ron said, smiling at his friend.

"You're still here?" Harry asked softly, still rather sleepy.

"Of course. Babe number two could never leave his charge."

Despite himself, Harry turned red. He was sure his best friend would never let him forget this. "Where is babe number one, by the way?" he asked.

"Doing babe number one things," Ron answered easily. "She's a girl on a mission, Harry. I reckon even Dolohov wouldn't be crazy enough to stand in her way right now."

Harry swallowed. "What happened?"

"Well, for starters, she all but let rip into the Order. You should have seen her, mate. It was almost feral, and she was charged up. Even I could feel her magic getting ready to unleash itself."

Harry closed his eyes for a moment. "Oh no."

"You should have seen their faces. Dumbledore didn't even know what hit him."

Harry's eyes snapped open at that. "Dumbledore as well?"

"Mate. I'm telling you, Hermione is on a mission. She's an unstoppable force when it comes to you."

Harry was quiet for a moment before he looked at Ron's face. "She told you, didn't she?"

"You did kind of call her babe."

Harry risked a smile. "She doesn't really like it when I do that," he admitted. "But I can't help it. It makes her nostrils flare adorably."

"And that's number one on the list of things I don't need to know."

Harry chuckled softly. Then he turned very serious. "You seem to be okay with it," he observed.

"I think I am," Ron agreed. "I can't really say that I'm all that surprised though. I always kind of thought Hermione might end up with one of us. We're the only ones who can put up with her. Was I stupid to think I stood a chance?"

Harry shifted a bit until he was propped up on his pillows. "No you weren't," Harry said, his tone barely dropping from its severity. "But if you still think it, then you definitely are."

Ron had to look at Harry and he was relieved to find his friend smirking. "You're mean."

Harry's smile didn't falter, but something seemed off with his eyes. "She makes me happy, Ron. I didn't even know this kind of happiness even existed. Is it selfish of me not to want it ever to go away?"

"I think you deserve to be a little selfish once in a while, Harry," Ron told him truthfully. "This world can't deny you happiness. The Harry-management team will make sure of it."

Harry just shook his head.

"But there is something that I need to say," Ron said, surprising them both with just how grave he sounded. "If you so much as hurt her, I will beat you up. I'll even use my bare hands to do it. Do I make myself clear?"

Harry nodded. "Crystal."

Ron took a deep breath, steeling himself for his next words. "And you can't die."

Harry frowned. "What?"

"Hermione is the type of girl who loves and loves eternally. She'll love once, I'm sure of it. And if you die, you'll ruin her, so please, Harry, _you can't die_. She won't survive it. Fuck, _I_ won't survive it."

"Ron?" He barely spoke, rather just moved his lips.

He put his hand out. "That's all I'm going to say about this. Subject is closed."

"And you say I'm the mean one," he muttered, just managing to hide the sudden all-consuming fear that he felt.

In a moment, Ron had mentioned all the things he was deadly afraid of. What if he did die? What if, one day, Hermione woke up and decided that maybe this wasn't what she wanted anymore? What if it was now too much? It all came down to one thing: hurting Hermione.

Losing her.

Though, Harry had to admit that he was quite relieved that Ron didn't seem put out by the news of his relationship with Hermione. He suspected that the redhead would need time to get used to the new dynamic of their trio but Harry vowed not to allow too much to change.

It was left unspoken, but Harry knew that Ron now knew that Hermione would always come first. In any situation. The two boys had a silent understanding about that. As much as she tried to protect them, they would protect her just as much, if not more.

"Say, Harry," Ron sounded. "You aren't actually naked under there, are you?"

Harry laughed. "Why? Do you want me to be?"

"That's just wrong, mate," Ron huffed. "Totally and utterly wrong."

"Of course I'm not naked," Harry said, still laughing. "Does that make you uncomfortable? Would you like to do something about it?"

Ron immediately stood up. "Honestly, I don't know how Hermione puts up with you," he muttered. "I'm surprised she hasn't hexed you already."

"She loves me too much."

"I'd still hex you," he muttered, moving back to sit in his abandoned armchair.

Harry managed to sit up fully. He tried to assess himself, lifting the covers to study his own body. The lines on his legs were greatly diminished, and his abdomen and chest were almost completely bare of bruises. Truthfully, his skin looked a sickly shade of yellow green.

"Are you hungry?" Ron eventually asked him.

Just at the reminder of food, Harry's stomach growled.

Ron chuckled as he stood up once more. "I'll head down and get something from Tom," he said. "Don't get up and please don't get hurt. Not even a papercut, all right? Otherwise your girlfriend will straight up murder me."

Harry just nodded.

Once Ron was out of the room, Harry climbed out of bed and went to the bathroom. In it, he was able to survey himself properly. His back still looked quite bad, which only made him wonder what Hermione had seen earlier. Would she ever really look at him the same way? Would she view him as weak? How could he ever dream of protecting her when he couldn't even protect himself from his Muggle uncle?

Harry felt disgusted with himself. What kind of man would he prove to be?

When Ron returned, Harry was still studying himself in the bathroom's mirror. The redhead almost dropped the food he was carrying when he spotted his best friend and the marks on his body.

"Merlin, Harry, you look awful," he said, his tone of voice robbed of any humour at all.

Harry was only slightly annoyed at the remark, but he couldn't bring himself to speak. It was as if his mouth was clamped shut, some overwhelming feeling threatening to swallow him up.

Ron just continued to stare. "You mean, it was worse than this?"

Harry didn't respond.

"No wonder Hermione's gone off her rocker," he said, shaking his head in mild disbelief. He couldn't stop himself from staring. Did Harry _know_? Did he know just what he looked like? Just what had that man done to him? "Why did he do it?" Ron found himself asking.

Harry just stared at him.

"Please tell me that he at least deluded himself into thinking he had a valid reason."

Still, Harry said nothing.

"Harry?"

"Do I have any pyjamas?" Harry eventually asked, blatantly ignoring Ron's prying questions.

Ron swallowed, trying his best not to be hurt that Harry wasn't confiding in him. "You weren't supposed to get out of bed," he pointed out.

"I needed the loo," he lied. Though, the more he thought about it, he realised that he did need to use the toilet. Without another word, he closed the bathroom door, closing himself in the darkness.

Ron felt something squeeze at his heart. His best friend was hurting in ways he couldn't even begin to understand. A part of him hated himself for ever being jealous of Harry Potter's life. This, this life was not one to be envied.

While he waited, Ron busied himself with laying out the food Tom had allowed him to bring up. There was quite a selection, most of which were Harry's favourites. Except the mashed potatoes. That was Ron's.

Ron waited close to twenty minutes before he moved towards the bathroom door. He couldn't hear any sound coming from the room, which was particularly worrying.

"Harry?" Ron sounded.

No response.

"Harry? Is everything okay in there?"

When there was still no response, Ron's mind jumped to terrible conclusions. _Fuck fuck fuck_. He tried the door. It was locked. _Quick_. He whipped out his wand, muttered the spell and then swung the door open, expecting the worst.

Harry Potter was sitting on the floor, his knees clutched close to his chest and his back leaning against the bathtub. He was rocking gently, his eyes unfocused as he murmured to himself.

Ron let out a relieved breath at the sight of his friend. The relief very quickly turned to concern. Ron was cautious as he walked into the small room and sat down on the tiles beside his best friend. Harry barely flinched at his movements, as if he didn't even notice. Never in a million years did Ron ever think he would end up in a position such as this one.

Ron decided not to say anything.

It was Harry who broke the silence. "She knows," he whispered, sounding fearful. "She knows," he repeated. Suddenly, he whipped his head around to face the redhead. "Ron, she knows!"

Ron swallowed. "What does she know, Harry?"

"About me." He was rocking again. "About this. I didn't want her to know."

"Why didn't you want her to know?"

"I can't lose her. I can't - I won't survive without her." He suddenly covered his face with his hands and growled. "She knows."

"Yes. She knows."

He rubbed at his face quite viciously. "What if she stops loving me?"

"She won't."

"But look at me! I'm disgusting!" He clutched at his legs again and closed his eyes tightly. _Picture better things, Harry_ , he kept telling himself. _Picture Hermione. Hermione. Hermione._

All he could see was Sirius. Over and over again. He kept falling through the Veil. He kept falling, over and over, and there was nothing Harry could do to stop it. Over and over again. Over and over and over again. And again.

Harry's failure. Just like Cedric.

Ron just watched in mild horror as Harry's rocking turned almost violent. Ron wanted to stop him, but he didn't know if that was a good idea. It was as if something had just snapped within his friend.

Something irreparable.

Where was Hermione? Why wasn't she back yet? He didn't know how to handle this. Whatever _this_ was.

"Harry," Ron said, trying to get his friend to calm down. "Harry, please, stop. Hermione's com -"

Harry turned sharply, his head snapping towards Ron, eyes unseeing. "Hermione," he breathed. "Hermione."

Ron nodded. "Yeah, Hermione."

Harry visibly relaxed, his shoulders dropping. It was as if the tension flew straight out of his body. He stared at Ron for a moment before he shook his head, snapping back to reality. He was shivering now.

Ron took a breath before he did something he'd never done before. He put his arms around Harry's shoulders and tried to calm him; possibly warm him. Ron thought that it would be weird and, for the most part, it was. But it still felt like the thing to do.

Hermione wasn't here.

Ron was.

"I'm sorry," Harry said softly.

"For what?"

"All of this."

"I'm surprised you were able to hide it for so long," Ron said, keeping his eyes on Harry's face.

"It hasn't been this bad for a while," he said, absently running a hand through his own hair. "Normally, I can handle it…"

"Sirius?"

Harry looked down at the tiles. "Are you going to tell Hermione?"

"That merely the sound of her name saved you from whatever depths of hell you were leading yourself down?"

Harry swallowed.

"Not if you don't want me to, mate," Ron said sincerely. "But I think she should know. Hermione isn't the type to run from this. I know you know that."

"Are you?"

"Am I what?"

"The type to run from this?"

Ron looked Harry right in the eye. "No."

Harry would say nothing more about it.

"Now, come on, I'm starving," Ron eventually said, getting to his feet. He helped Harry get up before he practically ushered his friend out of the bathroom. Ron made sure to close the door behind them. He even shuddered as he did.

That bathroom. He couldn't stop himself from thinking that, just moments earlier, it might have held some of his darkest fears.

* * *

When Harry woke up again, it was completely dark in the room. It took him a moment to remember where he was, even who he was. It took him another moment to realise that there was a body lying beside him on the bed. And, as much as he loved Ron, he was relieved to find that the body belonged to Hermione Granger.

Slowly, Harry rolled onto his side so he could look at her. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was shallow. She was asleep but her expression looked troubled. He'd barely had a chance to talk to her all day and he selfishly wanted to wake her up just so he could hear her voice and see her beautiful brown eyes.

"Hermione," he whispered. When she didn't stir, he smiled slightly. He could talk without her waking up. There were a few things he had to say and he wasn't quite sure he wanted her to hear them just yet. "I'm sorry I do this to you. I don't mean to worry you or stress you out. I just... this part of my life is just something that _is_. I've accepted it and I know that you can't understand how that can be. I can't explain it to you. I don't ever _want_ you to understand how lost and alone I feel sometimes. But you save me, every day. You save me.

"Every summer, I lose a piece of myself. It's like they just take something from me, robbing me of my identity, taking and taking and just taking. It's a part of my life that exists away from the magical world, something that I have to endure until I'm old enough to leave it all behind.

"Sometimes I accept it, even welcome it," he admitted, his voice dropping in volume. "As punishment for all the deaths I've caused; for all the dangers I put the people I love in. I know it doesn't make any sense and maybe I'm really more messed up than I think, but this particular beating feels like penance for the role I played in getting Sirius killed. I don't expect you to understand that because even I don't understand it, but it's what I feel.

"What does that make me? I've never really known. Am I weak for putting up with it? Or am I strong for enduring it? Does this change us? I know you promised it wouldn't, but you don't just see what you saw and not see me differently. It just doesn't happen that way. I'm not that lucky." Harry fell silent. Even though he'd spent majority of the day in a deep sleep, he felt exhausted. This entire day had drained him of something important.

"You're right, I don't understand," Hermione sounded, surprising him. He didn't even notice that she'd opened her eyes.

He swallowed, his heart rate spiking. "How much of that did you hear?"

"Enough."

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"I am too."

Harry was safe with Hermione. He knew that. But he couldn't help the fear he felt. It was eating away at him, coming from different directions, picking at him. "What do you think of me?" he found himself asking, needing to know.

"I think you are amazing," she said seriously. "And I'm not just saying that because I'm hopelessly in love with you, which I am... I know that there are things that you've been through, Harry; that I wouldn't even begin to imagine. And yet, here you are. You're still here. Somehow, you manage to put a smile on your face and keep going, despite everything that you've been through. I know some of it is pretend; I know that now, but merely the fact that you keep going is a feat all by itself."

"Hermione," he breathed. "I'm damaged. Beyond repair."

"Harry," she breathed back.

"This isn't something you can just fix. I'm broken. I'm beaten. I don't know how to recover."

She met his gaze, burning green in the darkness. "We'll do it together, okay? We'll figure it out. I know we will."

"I don't want to put you through this," he said, his heart aching.

"It's too late. You know that. It was always going to be too late. From the moment I met you, I was yours in some way. Now, babe, I am yours in every way."

He blinked. "You called me babe."

Hermione reached out with her hand to touch his chin. "You can be babe number three."

"I'd like that," he said sadly.

"You'll be okay, Harry," she said softly. "I know you will."

There was nothing more for him to say and they both knew it. This was it. She knew everything there was to know about him. She knew all his secrets, all his fears. And yet, she was still here; still looking at him as if his was the only face she ever wanted to see.

"I get it now," she said. "That guilt that you felt; the burning desire to blame yourself above all for what happened at the Ministry. I mean, I thought I understood, based on everything you said, but I get it _now_." She took a breath. "This entire day, I've been going over the role I played in our ending up here, over and over... If I'd just made you stay, if I'd written sooner. It all just plays through your mind, doesn't it?

"And the way I used to just sprout out that it wasn't your fault like I even understood the feeling... Well, now I do, and I'll tell you again and again that nothing that happened is your fault, the same way that _this_ isn't my fault. There are bad people in this world, Harry, and they are the ones who do the bad things. You're _so good_ that you think it's your own fault, when it isn't. Things will continue to happen, and we just have to keep going. We have lives to live, Harry Potter, and I'm looking forward to my future with you."

"Me too," he whispered, his eyes getting teary.

She stared at his face for a long while, taking in all that she could in the darkness. "Somehow, we have to learn how to forgive ourselves for the things that we can't control. You with Sirius, and me with my grandfather. Forgive yourself, Harry. Accept the role you may or may not have played, and choose to move forward. I'm right here."

"Will you forgive yourself as well? About me?"

"I had a bad feeling."

"It's not always going to be on you to protect me, Hermione. I'm a big boy, you know?"

"Out here, you are," she said, referring to the magical world. "But what about in here?" she asked, touching his temple with her finger. "You said it yourself, Harry... This is something you have to recover from, and it's going to take time, but I intend to be with you through all of it, because I love you."

"I know."

"No, I don't think you do," she said, her fingers touching his bare chest. "I didn't even know how much I loved you until today. I was completely naive to think that I understood this feeling that I have, but I don't. All I know is I can't stand the thought of being without you. It's too much to imagine."

"I'm right here as well." He put a hand over her hand on his chest and held it still. "I'm not going anywhere."

"We don't know that."

"Nothing could keep me from you. Not even Voldemort."

"It's not Voldemort I'm worried about, Harry," she informed him. At his frown, she continued. "It's you. I know _you_. I know what you would do to save the people you love. When it comes down to it, you'll do the _thing_ ; you'll be self-sacrificing. I hate myself for thinking that I could be enough to get you not to do it, but I suppose I'm just as selfish as you claim to be. When the time comes, I don't think I'll be able to let you go." She was crying now, and Harry didn't have the words to comfort her.

So he did the one thing he could.

He kissed her, in an all-consuming way. Somehow, he poured out his own love for her, kissing away her tears and making her believe, even for a moment, that they really could be okay.

Hermione's hands moved first, snaking around his neck and drawing him closer. Harry resolved to remember that they'd never kissed like this. It wasn't a passionate kiss like in her parents' car, or even the tenderness of their very first kiss.

It was emotional. Deeply, deeply emotional.

Before, they'd used words. Harry Potter could do words, but he was sure he could so this better. She already knew that he loved her and this was how he could show her, somehow express himself beyond the use of individual words.

They were afraid of the same things, he was sure. He could practically feel her fear as she trembled against him. And then beneath him. Harry half-rolled onto her, pinning her down with the weight of his body. Their legs were tangled together, bare skin against bare skin. Harry could barely think straight as he kissed his way along her jawline and down her neck, loving the way she squirmed beneath him.

He used his fingers to move her pyjama top aside, trailing kisses along her collarbone. She tasted divine under his lips, a potent mixture of salty and sweet. He had to, _had_ to get access to more of her skin.

"Harry," she managed to say, gently pushing at his chest. She was practically panting. "We can't do this."

"Do what?" he mumbled against her lower neck, barely lifting his lips away from her skin.

"This," she forced out, her mind terribly unfocused.

He pulled away from her to look at her face. "What are we doing?" he asked, meeting her gaze. His eyes were dark with something she'd never seen before. Was that what desire looked like?

"We can't just bury our grief in this," she said, pushing on his chest again. "As good as it feels." Because it did feel good. Really good.

He stayed put, but he did shift until he was nestled between her legs, his weight supported on his elbows as he looked down at her. "Hermione," he whispered, his face hovering over hers dangerously.

When he ground his hips against her, she took in a sharp breath. "Harry," she breathed. "Just…"

He smiled at the dazed look on her face. "I missed you today. Where did you go?"

Hermione was finding it incredibly difficult to think clearly with his weight resting exactly where she wanted him. "If you roll off me, I'll be happy to tell you."

"I'm not moving," he said, merely highlighting that by grinding against her once more. "Tell me."

She swallowed. "I went home for a while, packed my things, bid my parents goodbye, and then I went to Privet Drive."

His eyes widened and he immediately sat up, moving to his knees and leaning back on his heels. "You did _what_?"

She sucked air into her lungs before she sat up to look at him. "I said that I went to Privet Drive, Harry."

"But why? Why would you do that? What did you do?"

There was such fear in his eyes. So much fear, and it broke her heart. "I picked up your things," she said simply. "You are never going back there. Ever. Next summer, we'll find some place safe for us."

"Us?"

Hermione moved from her position so that she was kneeling in front of him. "I already told you, Potter, that where you go, I go. It's as simple as that. If I had it my way, you'd never be out of my sight another day of our lives."

Her words just made him think of his own thoughts earlier that summer. He'd wanted the exact same thing. To protect her, just to be with her; he didn't know.

"Nobody was home," she added. "Which was a good thing, because I was taking no prisoners today."

He risked a smile. "Yeah, Ron told me."

She eyed him. "Yeah, well, Ron told me some things too."

He shook his head. "This fucking Harry-management."

She giggled. "You love us."

"A little too much, if you ask me," he muttered, smirking at her. "So, after Privet Drive, where did you go?"

"Gringotts."

"What happened at Gringotts?"

"To be honest, nothing much, as was expected. But I did make an appointment for you. I think it's a good idea for you to get a good idea of your finances."

"And suddenly it's no longer ' _Us_ ,' huh?"

"What?"

"What's mine is yours, babe," he said, leaning forward and reaching for her waist.

Her nostrils flared. "It's not like we're married, Harry," she pointed out, her own hands moving to his shoulders.

"Yet."

She took a deep, calming breath but said nothing. Here she was in a dark room with her half naked boyfriend, hearing him tell her things every girl wanted to hear. There was only so much control Hermione Granger had.

"I love you," Harry said.

"I know," she whispered, her fingers moving into his hair. "But we're both mourning, Harry. Different things, sure, but it all demands to be felt. What good is it going to do to avoid all of the emotional pain by focusing on something physical?"

"And what exactly were we doing in your parents' car then?" he asked, more curious than anything.

"That was a lapse in judgment," she said, barely managing to ignore the feeling of his hands slipping under her pyjama top, his fingers rough on her smooth skin. "I really missed you. And you kind of told me you loved me. There were a lot of feelings that day."

"And what exactly do you feel today?" he whispered, leaning in and nipping at the skin of her neck.

"Hmm."

"How does _that_ feel?" he asked, breath hot on her skin. "And this?"

"Harry?" she breathed.

"I want to touch you," he said. "Will you let me?"

Hermione barely had time to nod before he was kissing her again, his tongue plunging into her mouth and turning her brain to jelly. And his hands. How could a person even begin to form a coherent thought when hands could do _that_?

He pushed her back down onto her back and resettled between her legs as they spread to accommodate him. For the first time, Harry allowed his hands to drop below her waist, his fingers trailing fire along the skin of her thighs. From his position, resting between her legs, he absently started to press against her, his desire turning desperate. It was rhythmic, brain-numbing.

Hermione wanted him closer, if that were even possible.

These were things that could happen only in the dark, Hermione supposed. He could touch her and she could touch him and that would be it. It was it. Hermione knew that this boy would be with her until the very end.

He would love her and she would love him. Unconditionally.

She didn't know when or where that end would come, but she knew one thing to be absolutely certain. When the time came - and it would come - and Harry Potter did the _thing_ , the self-sacrificing thing; she knew that she would go with him.


	10. Chapter 10

_"Find a place inside where there's joy, and the joy will burn out the pain." - Joseph Campbell_

 **Chapter Ten**

Hermione woke up before Harry, which was good because she didn't want him to witness the morning Hermione quite yet. And, after the previous night, her hair must have looked quite a sight. Where was her wand?

She was comfortable where she was, her back pressed into his front with his arm draped over her side. She felt supremely content, even lazy. And loved. Her body was tingling as she remembered the feel of his hands on her skin. He'd been so gentle, caressing her, worshipping her.

If her parents could see her now. She chuckled softly to herself. She had to get up. She had to get into the bathroom and get ready to face this day of all days, but she just couldn't bring herself to do it.

Hermione Granger was resolved to remain where she was for the rest of her life. She had decided.

When Harry started to stir behind her, Hermione let out a pleased sigh. "You're awake," he murmured, his breath hot on her neck.

"I rather think I'm dreaming," she murmured back.

"Is that so?" he asked, sounding slightly amused. He ghosted light kisses along her exposed shoulder.

"Hmm."

He gently blew on the skin of her neck as he snaked an arm under her and drew her closer to him. "Can we just stay here forever?" he asked softly, as if he'd read her mind.

"We can't."

"Please?"

She almost gave in. The sound of his voice, the pleading in his tone; she almost said yes to every request he ever made. But she couldn't. _They_ couldn't. "Ron will be arriving soon," she said, putting her hands over his on her abdomen. "Then what?"

"He can watch."

Hermione laughed out loud, absently pushing back into Harry. He let out a groan that confused her for a moment. But then again, she didn't need to be a genius to figure just what was _up_ with him. She even blushed at the thought, which was embarrassing enough given their activities of the night before.

"We should get up, yeah," he said. "We should definitely get up." Quite quickly, Harry rose from the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. Hermione felt very cold, with the warmth of his body suddenly gone. She didn't move though. She heard him turn on the shower and she just listened to the sound of the running water, her eyes closed and the smell of him all around her.

Based on what Ron told her about the happenings of the previous night, she needed to hear sounds, otherwise she would probably break down the door. Her anxiety paralysed her until Harry finally emerged from the bathroom. All he was wearing was a towel around his waist. Hermione didn't know why it shocked her. There was nothing remotely surprising about towels and bathrooms, but she was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was naked underneath that towel. And, after last night, she felt charged.

From her position on the bed, she watched him as he moved across the room, gingerly picking out a set of clothes from what Ron had bought for him the day before.

"Stop staring at me," Harry said, not even looking at her. "It's nothing you haven't seen before. Or touched."

Hermione said nothing as she carefully got up off the bed and stretched her arms up in the air. When she turned around, Harry was staring at her. "What?"

"You're beautiful, Hermione," he said, his eyes scanning her body. Her pyjamas didn't leave much to the imagination but that wasn't even a problem. His hands already knew her body well enough. Every inch.

Hermione moved around the bed and walked towards him. She didn't stop though. She merely lifted her fingers and ran them across his chest as she made her way to the bathroom, grabbing her bag and eventually closing the door behind her.

The steam was pleasantly welcoming. It clouded her mind, invariably clearing it. When she left her parents' house the day before, she'd never expected this. Coming to Diagon Alley had just been an excuse to see Harry. Sure, she'd needed to get school supplies but, really, it was all about Harry. And now, she'd just spent the night being held so protectively in his arms.

It was only one night, she knew, but how could she possibly go back to sleeping alone now? It felt too good to give up.

Hermione didn't take her time in the shower, her mind and body subconsciously wanting to see Harry as soon as possible. She shook her head at her own thoughts. If she wasn't careful, she was sure she would end up addicted to him.

When Hermione emerged from the bathroom, she found Harry standing practically where she left him. He was dressed in clothes that actually fit him: blue jeans, a checked shirt and a brown woolen jersey. He was staring at the bed as if it had just insulted him in some way.

"Harry, what are you doing?" she asked, looking at him curiously.

Harry waited a beat before he looked at her. "I want to be back in that bed with you," he said softly. "I never want to leave here, Hermione."

She walked towards him, sensing that he was thinking something very profound. She probably shouldn't have left him alone so soon after… After what? What had happened last night? He'd given everything of himself, bared his soul for her to see. She had to know he would be vulnerable.

Harry reached out for her and placed his hands on her waist, drawing her close to him. He rested his forehead against hers.

"Can I tell you a secret?" he asked softly, his breath tickling her nose.

"You can tell me anything, Harry," she whispered back.

"You, Hermione Granger, are the kind of girl people write books about."

Hermione just stared at him, their breath mingling in front of her. She didn't think a greater compliment existed in this world. Not for her, at least.

"I love you," he said simply. "I wish I had more words, better words to explain just what you mean to me, but I don't. This is it, Hermione. This is what you get. I'm just a boy. _Just_ Harry. And I love you. Is that enough? Am I enough?"

Hermione's heart twisted painfully. "Of course, Harry. You are more. You are so much more."

Harry kissed her gently. It was long, slow and tantalising. "I have half a mind to ask you to run away with me," he said, his voice barely audible. "I could spend the rest of my life with just you."

"It wouldn't be that exciting," she said, trying to ease the severity of his tone.

"You've already made for an exciting summer, Hermione; I'm sure life with you would be just as amazing, if not more. I honestly don't think there would be a day that I wouldn't be happy."

"Are you happy right now?"

"Always. With you." He kissed the tip of her nose. "Just, please don't open that door."

Hermione slipped her arms around his shoulders and hugged him tight. She wouldn't let go. She couldn't. "I know the world is a scary place," she whispered to him; "but you're not alone, Harry. Never alone. Never again."

With Hermione, he felt safe. She knew everything now, and she was still here; still holding him. She knew it all; the good, the bad, the big and all the small things.

Harry was reminded of it again. Hermione Granger was it. She was _all_ ; the one for forever. Just in this moment, he knew it to be true: they belonged to each other wholeheartedly; never to belong to another.

* * *

When Ron arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, Harry was in a considerably better mood. It helped that he'd just been thoroughly kissed. Hermione would have to school him about learning to hide it better. There was just something about his face that was always a dead giveaway. How would they ever survive stealing kisses at school when he could barely keep the goofy grin off his face?

Ron raised his eyebrows suggestively at the both of them but he said nothing. Hermione wondered how he would respond if she did end up kissing Harry in front of him? She wouldn't try it, but it did make her wonder.

"Mum's expecting us later," Ron informed them while they were having breakfast, with Tom silently watching over them like their very own protector. "We should probably get our supplies for school today, seeing as yesterday was such a bust ."

Harry shrugged. "Sorry ."

Ron smiled kindly at him, leaving words unsaid. They were starting to do that quite often. It was as if Ron took a page out of Hermione's book.

Hermione took the opportunity to make plans. Oh, how she loved to make plans. She asked them each questions, mainly about their subject choices. Harry, admittedly hadn't spent enough time deciding and Hermione didn't push him. Not yet, at least.

After breakfast, the trio headed into Diagon Alley, with Hermione leading the way. It was easier for both boys if they just allowed her to take control.

They had several days before they had to board the Express and Hermione wasn't sure she even wanted to. She really didn't want to have Harry live in what she believed was slowly becoming a toxic environment. Or already had.

Umbridge had pretty much ruined their fifth year, and Dumbledore had let her.

Dumbledore.

Hermione could only wonder what their Headmaster would try to do once Harry was back at Hogwarts. She hadn't had the opportunity to talk to Harry about what had actually happened with the Order. If anything she was a bit embarrassed of her own words and actions. Her rage had been uncontainable.

It still was sometimes.

Once Hermione deemed their days' proceedings successful, they shrunk all their supplies and, with barely a word spoken about it, made their way to the Burrow.

Molly received both Harry and Hermione with as much gusto as Hermione supposed she reserved for her oldest sons when they visited their childhood home. It was overwhelming.

Hermione couldn't be sure how much Molly Weasley had been told about just what happened the day before, but Hermione wasn't about to ask. She also didn't ask if Ron told anyone in his family that she and Harry were together. She'd worried only of Ron's reaction and nobody else's.

What would Ginny say? Hermione suddenly wasn't so sure she wanted to share a room with the youngest Weasley. But then, would Molly ever actually let her share a room with Harry? Hermione even laughed at the thought.

Would anyone really believe that all she wanted to do was _sleep_ in the same bed as him?

Even Hermione barely believed it. They were building towards something, she was sure. She could feel it. Every time he looked at her; every time he so much as touched her; there was _something_. It wasn't really anything she could explain, but she found that she wasn't remotely afraid of it.

This was Harry Potter. He would never willingly do anything to hurt her.

To her, Harry was quiet when they first arrived at the Burrow. He looked and felt conflicted, even awkward, as he was, as usual, the centre of Molly's attention. After dinner, he disappeared into his room and Ron got almost as antsy about his absence as Hermione did.

Without a word, they both stood up, excused themselves and went to find Harry. The wizard in question was lying on his back on his bed, reading a letter.

As Hermione walked towards him, she recognised her own handwriting, but the sudden rush of affection was quickly squashed by concern. What letter was that? Hermione almost forgot that Ron was also in the room as she climbed onto the bed beside Harry.

Taking the cue, Harry opened his arms for her and she snuggled against his chest. Harry didn't say anything as he handed the letter to Hermione and pulled her in tighter against him, his eyes automatically closing.

Ron stood awkwardly for a moment before he made a decision. Using his wand, he moved the other bed to be parallel with the bed on which his two best friends were lying. He also lay down and stared at the ceiling. He couldn't be sure what it was but they were all different. As much as Hermione professed that nothing would change; something definitely had.

In this moment, Ron knew that the change had nothing to do with Harry and Hermione's new relationship. If anything, it had everything to do with the trio's new understanding of just what had been going on. Ron and Hermione now knew, and Harry knew they knew.

For the longest time, the three of them just existed in silence. Hermione read through the letter he'd been reading, trying to figure out why this specific one was chosen for this moment. It was a letter she sent him from after he told her about the Prophecy, and after she assured him that she liked him.

The words she knew he'd been reading were near the end.

 _I had an epiphany this morning, Harry. It's about you and me. I think I finally figured out why you and I are perfect for each other. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm under no illusions that it will always be smooth sailing, but a girl can dream._

 _The thing is, Harry, you and I, we're complete equals. We understand each other completely. We have mutual respect and we don't get in petty fights (though I think we may yet get in some massive ones as the years go on). Everyone already thinks we're dating, so… why not give the people what they want?_

 _I'd always choose you, you know? Given the choice between you and anyone else in this world, I would choose you in a heartbeat. Without question._

 _I don't care that you're famous, or special or the Chosen One. I don't even care that you're fated to kill the Dark Lord. What I care about is that you are safe and happy and good. And that you're those things with me._

 _We want the same things. I know that I want a future with you. I don't want one if you're not in it. I have so many plans for us, Mr Potter. Exciting plans._

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment. This was Harry holding onto a future, with her. Gently, she folded the letter and placed it between her hand and his chest. There was nothing she needed to say at this point. They'd both said all they needed to.

It was Ron who broke their silence. He had to get something off his chest.

"Harry," Ron said, his voice cutting through the air. He rolled over onto his side to look at his best friends, to find them both already looking at him. He felt surprisingly calm, lying there, seeing them together. They seemed to fit perfectly.

"All right, Ron?" Harry prompted, his voice low in volume. It was almost as if he didn't want to disrupt the atmosphere too much.

He cleared his throat. "I think my parents knew," he said sadly. "Not the extent, I don't think; but they must have had an idea. I mean, if the Order knew then my parents had to have known." He sat up quite suddenly. "I just, I can't believe they would let it happen." He ran a hand through his hair. "I'm so sorry, Harry… If I'd known," his voice caught.

A moment later, both Harry and Hermione were up off the bed and wrapping their redheaded friend in their arms. Too much had already happened to the three of them in just the five years they'd known each other.

Harry and Hermione had many moments, but this one, well, this one belonged to the trio.

It was only the beginning though.

They had an even greater War that they still had to win.

* * *

"Hey, Potter?"

Harry was surprised to find Hermione standing in the doorway of the room that she shared with Ginny. She was just standing there, looking at him strangely. "Hey you," he said, smiling at her.

"Come here a minute," she said, gesturing him forward with one of her hands.

Harry didn't move. "Why?"

"Just come here."

Harry looked around to make sure they were in fact alone in the corridor. "Hermione?" he sounded skeptical.

She raised an eyebrow. "Harry, a word to the wise, when your girlfriend tells you to come here, you come _here_. Got it?"

He nodded dumbly as he moved towards her. Once he was close enough, Hermione put her hands on either side of his head and studied his features quite intensely.

Then she smiled. "All I wanted to tell you was that you have something on your face," she said calmly.

"Oh."

"Shall I get it for you?"

He nodded. "Please."

Hermione was smiling when she reached up and kissed him sloppily just under his left eye, her tongue darting out to taste him.

Harry chuckled as his hands automatically moved to hold her waist. "Did you get it?"

"Hmm," she sounded, narrowing her eyes. "I don't think so. Let me try again." She turned his head to the side and practically ran her tongue up the side of his face, making him squirm.

He refrained from wiping at his face with his hands but he did tilt his head to use his shoulder. "Did you get it now?"

She bit her bottom lip. "Just about."

Harry watched her for a moment, before he exaggerated a gasp.

"What?"

"I think some of it transferred to you," he said, eyeing an invisible spot on her chin.

Hermione's hands moved to hold his shoulders. "That's tragic. Are you going to do something about it?"

"I suppose," he said, sighing. "It's the least I can do." He dropped his head and nuzzled his nose against her cheek, just breathing her in. Then, expertly, he ran the tip of his tongue along the length of her jaw, loving the sweet taste of her skin.

Hermione moaned softly, her fingers working their way into his hair and pulling his head up. She brought her lips to his and they shared their first kiss since arriving at the Burrow. They made magic together, Harry was sure, and he could barely stop himself from pushing her up against the doorframe and deepening their kiss.

There was more he wanted to do as a sudden burning desire threatened to take control of him, but the sound of a girl's squeal stopped him from letting his hands roam.

Harry and Hermione both froze, their breathing haggard. Hermione, however reluctantly, unfisted his hair and allowed him to step away from her. They both knew that the squeal belonged to Ginny. Harry took hold of Hermione's hands for a moment, squeezed and then left her to deal with the redhead on her own.

Hermione just glared at the back of his head as he walked away from her. She glanced at Ginny, who was beaming from ear to ear. Then, shaking her head, Hermione followed after Harry, blatantly ignoring Ginny. She wasn't quite ready to answer whatever questions she probably had.

Hermione went through the empty living room, retrieved a book and headed to the kitchen. Thankfully, it too was empty. She busied herself by making a cup of tea. It was therapeutic in some regard, but all she could really think about was Harry's perfect mouth.

Hermione was quietly sipping her tea at the kitchen table when Ginny joined her, sitting down opposite her and smiling knowingly. The older witch took a deep breath, closed the book she was reading and made a point of looking at the redhead.

"Okay then, Ginny," Hermione said, sighing. She was ready now. "Go ahead. Ask your questions."

Ginny leaned forward, unable to contain her obvious excitement. "So… You and Harry, huh?"

Hermione lifted her cup of tea and took a tentative sip. "Yes. Me and Harry."

"How long?"

That was a loaded question. "I'd say, about this summer," she admitted.

"The two of you spent the night together at the Leaky Cauldron."

It wasn't really a question so Hermione didn't feel obligated to respond.

"So… Did you guys, umm, _you know_?"

If Hermione had been sipping her tea, she probably would have spat it out in surprise. "Ginny!"

"What?" the redhead asked innocently. "It's an obvious question," she pointed out. "I mean, if you could see the way you two look at each other sometimes… Seriously, it's like you're always trying to undress each other with your eyes."

Hermione blushed furiously at that, dropping her head and sipping her tea. She calmed down enough to look at Ginny again. "No, we haven't done _that_ ," she said calmly. "But, ever since we spent that night together, everything just seems so charged lately."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know," she said, shifting slightly. "Everything we do, even everything we say suddenly just feels so sexual. And intense. I can't explain it."

Ginny was frowning but she seemed genuinely interested. "Example?"

Hermione didn't even know why she was still having this conversation. "He can be doing nothing, really, and I'll just want to jump him. The other day, he was literally just drinking pumpkin juice and there was no telling what I would have done. And yesterday. Merlin, yesterday!" She huffed. "We were brushing our teeth, Ginny. Brushing. Our. Teeth. What about that is even remotely sexy?"

Ginny was laughing. "Maybe it's because your parents are dentists," she offered, clearly amused.

Hermione sighed, knowing that wasn't it. "I think I just love his mouth," she said seriously. "He has a _great_ mouth."

"I bet he does."

Hermione just looked at her.

Ginny turned about as red as her hair. "Sorry, but he just looks like he does," she said. "Get used to it, Hermione. When we get back to school, there are going to be countless girls fawning over Harry Potter. Now that the Wizarding public knows the truth about his face-offs with You-Know-Who, what did you expect?"

"It also doesn't help that he's grown a foot this summer, does it?"

Ginny grinned. "No it really doesn't."

"Nobody would ever actually try anything with him, would they?" Hermione asked, her voice dropping of its own accord.

Ginny sensed her worry. "I'm sure they'll back off once they know he's taken."

"Because he is," Hermione concluded. "I know it and he knows it. That's all that really matters, right?"

Ginny didn't say anything, but she did nod.

Hermione would take it. There was nothing to worry about. Harry belonged to her the same way that she belonged to him. It was literally that simple. Just thinking of the raven-haired wizard twisted her insides in a very pleasurable way. She had half a mind to go and find him just so she could look at him, possibly touch him. He was somewhere in this very house and yet she found herself missing him. It was almost painful, her desire to see him.

Pathetic.

As if he could somehow sense that she was itching to see him, the wizard in question strolled into the kitchen, looking particularly delicious in a tan t-shirt and a pair of dark jeans. He was wearing only socks, which Hermione repeatedly told him not to do.

"Don't you own shoes, Harry Potter?" she asked, eyeing him as he made his way towards her. He came to a stop behind her and bent down to kiss her cheek.

He lingered to whisper in her ear. "Why would I wear shoes when I get to hear you scold me in that sexy voice of yours?"

Hermione shut her eyes tight enough to stop herself from making an embarrassing sound. "Harry," she hissed.

He chuckled softly, his breath tickling her cheek. "Why, _Professor Granger_ ," he murmured against her skin. "Scold me at your peril."

Hermione just shook her head, lifted her hand to his face and pushed him away. "I'm trying to have a conversation here, Harry," she said.

He returned his mouth to her ear. "There you go again, scolding me," he whispered.

She could barely take it as she pushed his face away again, her fingers brushing over his handsome features. She glanced at Ginny, who looked to be thoroughly enjoying Hermione's torture. "Does Dean ever do this to you?" Hermione asked.

"It's more the other way round," Ginny replied, winking. "Your resolve is much stronger than his is apparently."

 _Barely_ , Hermione thought. She could feel Harry's breath at her ear, on her skin, tempting her. He was evil. He knew exactly what he was doing and he was enjoying it. Hermione could already feel herself giving in. Abruptly, she stood up and stepped away from the table. Without a word, she took hold of Harry's hand and pulled him out of the kitchen.

Harry just followed as she led the way up to his room. Words would do neither of them well at this point. Something was happening. Something electric.

The door was barely closed before they were grabbing at each other. Harry put his hands on her waist and pushed her back against the bedroom door where he proceeded to kiss the air right out of her lungs. He took hold of her hands and lifted them above her head as his lips moved from her mouth to suck at the skin of her neck, receiving all kinds of welcoming sounds in response.

Hermione managed to free her hands and immediately started to pull on his t-shirt, signaling that she wanted to take it off. Harry obliged, raising his arms to make it easier. It didn't get caught on his ear this time. She was getting better at this. Once the fabric was gone, her fingers started to roam; to touch him, to feel him. It was practically unbearable.

Harry kissed her lips once more as he ran his hands down her upper body. He knew his girlfriend had curves; the kind that drove him crazy, but being able to touch her was turning his brain to porridge. Suddenly, Hermione Granger was a drug and no fix would be satisfactory.

Without asking permission, he lowered his hands to clutch at her thighs. Hermione obliged by lifting her legs and wrapping them around his hips, as he pressed up closer against her, the friction almost too much to handle. He tasted sweet, but a fiery sweet that made her clutch onto him even tighter, as if she was holding on for dear life.

"Okay," Hermione eventually said, pulling away and taking in as much air as she possibly could. She was completely breathless. "Okay," she repeated, untangling her fingers from his hair. "We, umm," she tried to speak, but the way he was looking at her made it very difficult to form sentences. Hermione knew that look.

He wanted her.

Badly.

She took a deep, calming breath. They couldn't. They really _couldn't_. He knew that. Not in Molly Weasley's house.

Reluctantly, Hermione unhooked her legs from around him and dropped them to the floor. Once she was standing on her own two feet, she started to think a little more clearly. It didn't help that he was still shirtless in all his glory.

"We can't keep doing this, Harry," she said, her lungs still failing her.

He said nothing, as he just looked at her, wanting her. He was still breathing heavily, the evidence of his arousal staring her right in the face.

She placed her hands on his bare chest and pushed him away from her so she could get a breath of air that didn't smell like him. It was useless, though, because the entire room smelt like him. She even contemplated casting a Bubblehead Charm on herself. "Say something," she said, frowning slightly.

"What do you want me to say?" he asked innocently.

"What was that all about downstairs?" she asked, rather accusingly.

He shrugged. "I figured, if you were allowed to bait me in front of your family, then I was allowed to do so in front of mine."

Harry said so much in that one sentence that Hermione actually stopped thinking for a moment. Claiming that his family was the Weasleys was the biggest thing, she reckoned.

"Wait, when did _I_ bait _you_?"

"At dinner with your family," he explained, jogging her memory. "Your boy-toy, huh?"

She suddenly remembered, and felt herself blush at just what she had whispered to him at the table. She wouldn't dare repeat it, now that they were alone in a room together. She didn't even know where she'd found the guile to say such a thing to him, let alone in the presence of several of her family members.

Harry started to grin at her when he noticed that she remembered. "I wouldn't mind, you know," he said suggestively, even winking.

"Oh hush, you," she huffed, turning bright red.

" _You're_ the one who dragged me up here," he pointed out.

" _You're_ the one doing scold-worthy things."

He grinned. " _You_ started it. All I was doing was walking around in just my socks. It's not my fault you get all flustered by something as small as that."

"I just don't understand why you're not wearing shoes!"

"Why should I?" he countered.

"But why aren't you?" she shot back.

Before he could offer another counter of his own, Hermione practically leapt into his arms, kissing him so fiercely he was sure she would split a lip. Harry stumbled back a bit but was able to right himself in time to give as good as he got. Her soft moans were vibrating in his mouth, making him feel all powerful. He, Harry Potter, was doing this to her, Hermione Granger.

It was addicting. He would never tire of this. Ever.

Harry lifted her up off the ground and she, once again, wrapped her legs around his waist, practically pinning him in place. For a moment, they both stopped to look at each other.

Harry silently asked the question, and Hermione used her own eyes to reply in the affirmative. She wasn't even worried as he gently set her down on his bed. He spent a moment just staring at her, trying desperately to memorise this moment. It was a big one for them.

While Harry studied her, she studied him. In just this summer, he had grown into someone she loved with every fibre of her being. It was overwhelming and deeply satisfying at the same time, and she was completely willing to give herself to him.

This was it, in her eyes. This boy, this man, would be with her until the Universe would have to tell them, 'No more.' Hermione could forget, just for a moment, that that day would probably come.

Today though, she had to have him. Now.

Absently, she reached for a wand - she wasn't even sure if it was hers - and cast several Charms on both the room and herself. It helped to be terribly self-aware, the bookworm that she was. She hoped Molly Weasley would forgive them of this.

"Come here," Hermione said, her gaze meeting his and her hands reaching for him.

This time, Harry did not hesitate.

And, as he kissed her, touched her, tasted her, and made love to her for the very first time; he could practically hear her silence as if she was telling him just what he needed to hear in that moment and for every moment to follow.

 _I love you. I love you. I love you. Oh Harry. I love you. I love you._

Over and over. He was hearing her words as if they were ringing in his head, forcing him to believe them; accept them.

And he did.

Her very intimate hold on him translated the truth of it better than any words ever could.

 _We'll be together until the very end, Harry. I love you. I love you. I love you._


	11. Chapter 11

_"For every good reason there is to lie, there is a better reason to tell the truth." - Bo Bennett_

 **Chapter Eleven**

"Do you think it's going to start raining?" Hermione asked her mother for what felt like the hundredth time in just the last hour.

"It's almost as if you _want_ it to start raining," Jane Granger pointed out, eyeing her daughter curiously. The older woman had been surprised by Hermione's request to have her friends over for dinner, but neither parent had even thought of saying no.

Hermione turned her gaze away from the scene happening just outside the kitchen window and looked at her mother. "Of course I don't. Not really."

"Are you afraid that your father is going to figure out that that boy out there made a woman out of his daughter?" she asked, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

Any other night, Hermione might have balked at the thought of her mother asking her such a question. But the truth really was that Hermione, sixteen years old or no, was a woman. In just three weeks, she would be considered an adult in the magical world and that went a long way in helping her accomplish her ultimate goal: protecting Harry.

"Hermione?" Jane prompted, worrying about her daughter's lack of reaction.

The young witch took a deep breath. "How did you know Dad was the one?" she found herself asking. Really, it felt like such a simple question, especially in this life that was anything but simple.

"My parents knew first," Jane replied, walking around the kitchen island and coming to stand beside her daughter. "Your grandfather had hated every boyfriend of mine before he met your father. I don't know what it is with men but it probably stems from their incessant need to protect their women. It's primal, I think, because it's not something they would discuss with us."

"Probably because they're afraid to mention to us that they think we would even need protection," Hermione muttered.

Jane smiled. "Probably."

"But I still don't understand."

"Well, and this is nothing scientific, but I think that the father and the daughter's potential partner come to some sort of understanding. I think that my father saw in your father somebody who would never willingly hurt me; someone who would do all he could to protect me, even if I didn't need it."

Hermione thought about that for a moment. "Do you think Dad sees that in Harry?"

She nodded. "Even _I_ see it in Harry. Not that I count."

"Of course you count," Hermione said quickly, seriously.

Jane swallowed. "Is everything okay, sweetheart?" she felt she had to ask. "Don't get me wrong, I love having you home and all, and we're especially excited to be able to meet all your friends that you always talk about, but I know that something isn't right."

Hermione turned to look out of the window again. Her father was standing talking animatedly with several of her favourite people in the world. Ron and Neville seems really interested in whatever Michael Granger was saying, while Ginny and Luna were full of questions for the aging dentist.

But it was Harry Hermione was looking at.

As if sensing her eyes on him, he looked towards the kitchen window and smiled at the mere sight of her. Hermione felt her knees wobble for a moment and she had to put her hands on the counter to steady herself. That mouth of his would be the end of her, she was sure.

She shook her head, laughing lightly. How could she ever be worried when he looked at her like that?

"Hermione?" Jane looked worried now.

Hermione was still smiling when she looked at her mother. "He asked me to marry him, you know?"

Jane's eyes widened. "What?"

"That was exactly my reaction," Hermione said, unable to drop her smile. "He was a right tool about it as well, all smug and confident, as if he already knew what I would say."

"Hermione?"

The young witch sighed. "There are things, Mum, that I haven't told you, because I want to protect you."

The older woman swallowed. "About Harry?"

Hermione blinked. "Yes, about Harry, and about other things as well. I want to tell you. Harry thinks that you and Dad ought to know and I'm inclined to agree with him."

"Is that why you're here today?"

"No. Not really. Partly." She took a deep breath. "Tonight is about the two of you seeing and knowing that I've got people who care about me, who love me and will fight for me. It's about bringing my two worlds together, even if it's just for a moment."

"What's happening, sweetheart?"

"Bad things, Mum," Hermione admitted. "We're entering a War, and Harry is in the very middle of it. He has the Darkest Wizard alive searching for him, intent on killing him. He won't stop until Harry is dead."

Jane had absolutely no idea what to say to that. "Hermione?"

"I don't want to lie to you anymore, Mum," she said seriously. "I love that boy out there, and I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure he survives. It's that simple. So, really, the reason we're all here today is that I'm not entirely sure when or if we'll ever be able to this again. _All_ of us."

"Hermione?" Jane croaked.

The younger woman risked a smile. "It's okay, Mum. This is just what is. Harry is a very powerful wizard."

"But you're just children!"

Hermione couldn't even think of the words to explain to her mother just how inaccurate that statement was. Ever since she'd met Harry Potter, Hermione had been growing up. She'd faced a basilisk, a twist in time, the thought of losing her best friend, and countless Death Eaters. She definitely wasn't a child anymore.

"Hermione," Jane said. She was about to add something else when Ginny and Luna entered the kitchen, giggling about something.

"We're all starving," Ginny said, not picking up on the tension between mother and daughter. "I'm telling you, Ron is five seconds away from eating your father, Hermione."

"He looks like he would taste nice," Luna easily said and Hermione had to stifle a laugh at the look of horror on her mother's face.

"We're about done in here," Hermione said. "Help us take out the food."

Hermione marveled at just how domestic the entire situation felt. These were moments she knew that they had to hold onto. When they left this place, when they returned to Hogwarts; they would be facing their darkest days to come. Hermione knew she should have been more worried, but they really were returning to the safest place for Harry. Despite her opinion of their Headmaster, even Hermione had to acknowledge that Hogwarts was safest when Dumbledore was around.

When Hermione emerged from the house, she could immediately tell that Harry was waiting for her. It wasn't even something he was doing consciously. He just couldn't engage with anyone until she was with him, like he didn't exist when she wasn't around.

Harry took the potato salad from her and carried it to the garden table. They didn't usually have many opportunities to dine in their backyard but it was a rather pleasant night. And, as if they had all come to a silent agreement, there was little talk of school or what was surely to come. For one night, they just enjoyed the company.

This would be one of their last nights of peace, and of innocence.

After dinner, Michael put on some music, which made its way into the backyard, filling each of them with something warm. Harry couldn't have explained it, even if he wanted to. This moment, right here, with his surrogate family, was both an end and a beginning.

At some point, Ron asked Michael to show him how to play that sport football that he'd been telling him about. Ginny and Luna joined them as they kicked a ball around on the grass, which Harry found particularly amusing.

"They're useless," Hermione concluded, leaning against Harry as they sat on the outdoor table's bench and watched as their friends mercilessly kicked at air.

"The ball, Ron!" Harry shouted, unable to stop his own laughter. "Kick _the ball_!"

Neville burst out laughing when Ginny tripped over her own legs, and the redhead shot him a fiery look that had him cowering.

Luna was enjoying herself the most, as far as they could tell. She was practically skipping around, constantly giggling. She also wasn't the worst kicker. The ball generally went in the direction it was supposed to.

"Aren't you three going to join them?" Jane asked the three remaining teenagers. "It looks like fun."

Harry and Hermione looked at each other for a moment, easily making their decision in the silence. Hermione stood up first, and then stuck both her hands out for each boy to take. "Come on, why don't we show them how it's really done?

Both boys stood up, neither able to say no.

Hermione even looked at her mother. "If you join in, we can play four and four," she said, as if it were a passing remark. And then she was leading the boys to the small patch of grass that was about to turn into Wembley Stadium.

Harry couldn't remember a time he'd ever seen such joy on Hermione's face - that didn't have anything to do with schoolwork, that is. Her laughter was infectious and its existence seemed to give everyone else the license to enjoy themselves just that bit more.

Hermione also wasn't against tackling, which turned the game into a constant stream of people ending up down on the grass, rolling around. Hermione was surprisingly quick on her feet and she was good at evasion. Even when Jane decided to join in and they played four versus four, Hermione led the charge. Harry didn't even think he could have been more in awe of her.

He absently wondered what it would have been like if Hogwarts offered more than just Quidditch as a school sport. Maybe that was something they could plan to address in the future.

Hermione's team, which consisted of Neville, Jane and Luna, ended up winning by an obscene amount of goals - not that anyone was really counting - and Hermione was enjoying her lap of honour quite boisterously before Harry shut her up by kissing her.

"Thank you!" Ron exclaimed good-naturedly.

Ginny and Luna just giggled, as they resettled at the table, eager for some dessert after their exploits on the field.

Harry and Hermione stayed out on the makeshift pitch, even when they did pull away from each other. Harry looked at her face.

"That wasn't very nice, Mr Potter," Hermione said, snaking her arms around his neck.

Harry's hands remained at her waist and, without a word spoken, they began to sway to the music, sharing their first ever dance as a couple. "I couldn't resist," Harry admitted. "You're really sexy when you're gloating."

She laughed. "I so was not gloating."

"You so were."

She looked at his chest for a moment, unable to look into his green eyes for what she was about to say. "So, I may or may not have mentioned a few things to my mother already," she told him.

"About?"

"The bad things that are coming, our possible involvement, and how this may be the last time I see them for quite some time."

"Hermione," he breathed.

"And she may have also figured out that we've started having sex," she just dropped in, and Harry stiffened.

"What?"

Hermione had to giggle at his facial expression. "Wow, you'd think that I just told you I decided to join the Dark forces."

"This isn't funny," he said, sounding panicked. His eyes darted around until they settled on Jane Granger, who was caught in what looked to be a very confusing conversation with Luna. "She knows?"

Hermione nodded.

"And she hasn't kicked me out?"

Hermione just laughed, reaching up and pecking his lips. "Even she knows that where you go, I go."

"I don't know how I feel about this," he admitted.

"We can stop, if you'd like," she said cheekily, and Harry growled. "That's what I thought."

Harry pulled her closer to him. "Things are going to be different when we go back, aren't they?"

"They always were going to be different, Harry. But yes, things will have definitely changed."

"Are you scared at all?"

Hermione looked into his eyes. "Sometimes. I'm more afraid of losing you than anything," she admitted. "You've burned me, Harry Potter."

Harry had to kiss her. "I love you," he whispered.

"I know."

He smiled. "We're going back to school."

"Ron said that you made a decision," she said, leading him towards what she wanted to know.

He huffed. "I swear, I'm going to be old and grey and you two are still going to be going at it with your Harry-management."

She didn't even try to deny it. "Tell me, what have you decided?" Hermione asked, looking at him as if the sun rose and fell on his face.

"It was a joint decision," he informed her, clearly referring to Ron. "We're taking Charms, DADA, Herbology, Potions and Transfiguration. It'll give me lots of time to bother my very sexy girlfriend whenever she's trying to study."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "We're going to have to set some rules, Harry Potter."

He exaggerated a pout and pulled her closer, his arms gripping her waist just that bit tighter. "What rules are these then?" he asked.

Hermione kept her own hands on his shoulders. They wouldn't go anywhere near his hair. She needed to remain focused on what she had to tell him. She couldn't be distracted by his hair or his eyes or even his smell. "We're going to be at school now, Harry, and school is very important to me."

"I know that. That's why it's important to me as well."

Hermione had to look at his face, and she was surprised by the severity of his expression. "Harry?"

"I know, Hermione," he said softly, hugging her close as they swayed to the music. "I _know_. Trust me, I know."

She just stared at him for a prolonged moment, absently wondering where this perfect boy had come from. How did she get so lucky?

"When you tell me not to interfere, I won't. But I'm your boyfriend, and I do have your best interests in mind, so when it's time to take a break; it's probably time. I'm a genius that way, you know?"

She eyed him. "And by taking a break, you mean…?"

"Doing wanton things with this hunk in dingy broom cupboards," he said saucily, raising both his eyebrows suggestively.

"Always so romantic."

"I love you."

It still surprised her whenever he said the words out loud. It always felt like an entire experience to her, sending her heart to worrying speeds and making her smile the goofiest smile.

"I love you," he said again, leaning forward and kissing her cheek. "I love you, I love you, I love you." He trailed kisses along her jawline, and then down her neck. "I love you."

Hermione sighed happily and tilted her head to give him further access. Her fingers moved at the their own will and found themselves in his hair, pulling his head closer. Finally.

"I love you," he said again, sounding breathless. "I can't even explain to you just how much."

This new warmth started in his chest, spreading outwards as he ran his hands up and down her back and then along her arms.

"Oi, you two!" It was Ron. "Are you trying to petrify us here? Nobody wants to keep seeing that!"

Harry pulled away from Hermione but he did not release her. "Look away then!" he yelled in Ron's direction. "Or maybe just ask Luna to dance already, you pervert."

Hermione laughed, gently swatting Harry's shoulder. "Oh, go easy on him."

Harry shrugged. "It wasn't even like we were kissing," he pointed out. "We could really put on a show then."

Hermione pulled him into a hug, burying her face in the crook of his neck. This was a moment for them in a way every other _moment_ before wasn't. She couldn't quite explain it, but it felt like this was the moment they both decided that this was truly _it_. Try as they might to protect each other from each other; it just wouldn't work. They'd given that up, and they were fully embracing _this_.

This silence was a vow to stop trying so hard to shield each other from their pain. There were other, much scarier, things to protect each other from.

No words were even exchanged.

And, when Hermione released him, she caught sight of a shining in Harry's eyes. "We'll be okay, Harry," she whispered, running a hand through his hair. "I know we will. We're going to win this War, and we're going to have that future that we both want. I know it."

"How can you be so sure?" he asked weakly.

"Because it's what you do," she whispered. "You survive."

"I won't live without you," he told her strongly.

"Neither will I."

Harry placed a kiss against her forehead. This one was another promise of sorts, and Hermione closed her eyes at the contact. Really, this whole thing started with one of these kisses. It felt like years ago though. They'd gone through so much in one summer, but Hermione wouldn't give anything to be anywhere else but right where she was.

Nothing in this world compared to what it felt like to be held in Harry Potter's arms.

So, come what may... they would face it all, and they would win. Because this was too good to let go of. Her life with Harry was too inviting not to do all she could to make sure she got to live it.

Harry took a deep breath. "I want pudding."

Hermione laughed out loud at that. "Come on then," she said, grabbing his hand and pulling him back towards the table. They received a bit of ribbing from their friends but it wasn't anything they couldn't handle.

It was a great night. Something the Ministry Six probably wouldn't forget for quite some time.

It was only later, when they were done packing up and about to leave that Jane managed to get a word in to her daughter about what she had started to tell her earlier.

The rest of the young witches and wizards were waiting, ready to head back to their own world, but there was a burning question that Jane just _had_ to ask. She'd felt compelled to ask it, especially after the way Harry had thanked her and Michael for the fact that Hermione existed. It sounded odd, and a little too profound for teenagers, that Jane knew that she just _had_ to know.

"Hermione, sweetheart," Jane caught her daughter's attention after her lengthy farewell. "About that thing that you said Harry asked you; what did you end up answering?"

Hermione turned her body to face her mother, absently smiling at the look of concern on her face. "Honestly, Mum, I'm only sixteen years old. I'm also highly logical, rather rational and kind of hopelessly in love with a boy who might die..."

Jane just stared at her daughter, somewhat disbelieving.

Hermione smirked. "What do you _think_ I said?"

And then she was gone.

* * *

Harry was sitting in the corner of his solitary compartment, staring out the window at the trees rolling by, when Hermione arrived after her patrol. She stood in the doorway for a moment, just watching him, quietly wondering how it was that he managed to worry her just with his silence. She couldn't quite figure out his facial expression either, which was rather worrying. Whenever she couldn't read his emotions, it usually meant that he was conflicted about something.

Hermione couldn't figure out what he could possibly be conflicted about. They'd spoken quite endlessly about the upcoming year, just the two of them and with their friends. There were things that were going to happen; that needed to be done, and they had to be prepared for all of it.

Harry even let them in on what Dumbledore had asked of him, about Professor Slughorn. Neville had not taken the news that Snape would be their new DADA teacher very well. Not that anyone really blamed him. None of them were looking forward to being subjected to his wrath in a more potent environment either. With the knowledge that Voldemort really was back, people were bound to do something crazy.

It took Harry quite a while to notice that Hermione was standing in the doorway. When he spotted her, he immediately smiled, sending a wave of something warm through Hermione's body. This boy.

Harry stood up to greet her, pulling her into his arms and hugging her tight enough to hurt.

"I'm guessing the trunk's in your pocket," he said once he released her. "Where's your pitiful excuse of a pet?"

She glared at him. "Crookshanks is with Ginny, if you must know."

He grinned. "You know I love that half-kneazle."

Hermione just pushed on his chest, and Harry sat down again, still smiling. He watched as she closed and locked the compartment door. She dropped the blinds, took out her wand and cast a few spells.

"Ooh, _Professor Granger_ ," he said excitedly.

Hermione shook her head at him. "Oh no, there is no way in the world we're doing it on the Hogwarts Express," she informed him.

He pouted. "It's always been a fantasy of mine."

Hermione moved to sit down beside him. "I bet it has. What else?"

"The library," he said, beaming at her. "On my broom."

"That sounds dangerous."

"All the more exciting."

Hermione took hold of his hand. "While all your fantasies sound great, Mr Potter; there's only one real problem."

"What's that?"

"You," she said, making a point of poking him in the ribs. "How on earth are we supposed to go doing all these dirty deeds around the school when you can't even keep the fact that we kiss off of your face?"

Harry had to blush at that.

"You've got to learn to school your features, Harry. I won't have everyone knowing what we get up to when we get up to it."

"But we will be getting up to, umm, whatever we'll be getting up to."

She smiled at him. "I don't know why but I get insanely happy when you remind me that you really are a typical boy."

"So that's a yes then?"

She laughed before she leaned in to kiss him. "What do you think?"

Harry felt that warm feeling start up again, spreading outwards from within him. He wanted to mention it to Hermione but he thought better of it. It was a feeling that belonged to him, and it was the good kind. He was sure he would tell her one day. There was no more hiding anything from her ever again.

Silently, Harry moved to put an arm around her and drew her in close as she leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. For a while, neither of them said anything. There was nothing to say that couldn't be said at another time.

They were content to just _be_.

Hermione broke their silence, her voice coming out as nothing more than a whisper. "Harry?"

His eyes were closed. "Hmm?"

"When this is all over; when we finally win, there are things that I want to do."

"Okay."

"I have plans." Somehow, she just knew that he knew about what she was talking: Wizarding Britain.

The same way Harry knew that she knew as well. "So do I, Hermione."

Hermione took a deep breath. "It won't be easy."

"Nothing worth it ever is," he said.

"Wow, that's terribly insightful, Harry Potter."

He chuckled. "I must have read it somewhere."

"No you didn't," she countered lightly, her volume of voice barely rising. "You should just accept that you were born to be a leader; you were born to inspire. We may just be teenagers but it's going to be us who win the War."

"Because of the Prophecy?"

She sat up to look at him and Harry was forced to open his eyes. "Tell me something, Harry. If it weren't for the Prophecy, would you still be gearing up to fight this War?"

Harry didn't even hesitate. "Of course."

She settled back against him. "Then you've answered your own question. It's never going to be about the Prophecy. Sure, maybe _you_ have to be the one to kill the madman but we're fighting because of our own ideals. We're on the side of the Light, and we intend to bring Wizarding Britain to a place where all witches and wizards, regardless of blood, are treated well, and are made to feel safe and happy."

Harry kissed the top of her head. "Should I be taking notes, Minister Granger?" he asked cheekily.

Hermione sat up again to look at him, her eyes telling him so much. "Excuse me, but it's Minister _Potter_ to you," she said, laughing.

That warm feeling within him roared to life yet again and Harry couldn't even formulate words. He just stared at her, falling even more in love with her as each day went by.

Hermione kissed his cheek before she resettled against him, snuggling in nice and close.

For the first time in as long as he could remember, Harry wasn't approaching Hogwarts with a feeling of doom. Sure, he was wary of whatever they were bound to face, but he didn't feel the fear. It was there, somewhere, dormant, but he would keep going.

As he always had.

He had great friends and a wonderful girlfriend. He had a great big future to fight for. He wanted to feel the sublime happiness without the guilt, and without the inane thought of the Prophecy looming over him.

Harry tightened his hold on Hermione, his eyes closing once again and his head leaning back. It was amazing just how much had happened in the time since they were last in this position. Now he could tell Hermione things he'd never been able to before.

"Hermione," he whispered.

"Yes."

"You've made for a very exciting summer," he said, absently kissing the top of her head and breathing in the peonies and almonds.

"I have, haven't I?"

He chuckled, and then he turned serious. "We're in it together now. Whatever comes our way, we'll handle it. The good, the bad, the big and the small."

Hermione reached up to kiss the underside of his chin. "As long as we're on the same page about this..."

"We're definitely on the same page," he said, grinning at her. "I might even be a page ahead."

"Oh yeah? So, tell me, Mr Potter, what happens next?"

He wouldn't be able to stop grinning if he tried. "A lot more kissing."

Hermione laughed out loud at that, sitting up so she could look at him. "I'll tell you what's going to happen. You and me, Harry Potter, we're going to save the world."

And, really, as Harry leaned in to kiss her, he had absolutely no choice but to believe her.

Pathetic.

* * *

 **AN** : I thought it best to end the story here because, in a way, they've both come full circle. I do, however, have a pretty neat epilogue (if I do say so myself) which I will be posting later because, right now, I'm going to watch Captain America: Civil War. Finally.

The epilogue is kind of how I envision their lives, if I had my way.

Thank you for reading! I really hope you enjoyed the story.


	12. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

His wife picked the restaurant. It was usually Harry's job to pick and make the reservation, but this night was special. They were celebrating something huge; something that would have been near impossible if Harry Potter himself hadn't been born.

One could only marvel at just what Harry Potter and his lovely wife had accomplished, just in the fifteen years since they'd taken down the Darkest Wizard alive. They'd come up with a plan and managed to execute everything quite flawlessly. And they managed to look really good doing it.

The most famous couple in Wizarding Britain had just celebrated their ten year wedding anniversary, but even that didn't compare to what they were celebrating tonight. Harry was even embarrassed about how smug he actually felt. His wife. Damn. How had he ended up so lucky?

Harry arrived at the restaurant first, as was the norm these days. He had been left to deal with shipping the kids off to their grandparents' house for the night, while his wife was tending to something important. She now dealt with some of the most important things. The more Harry thought about it, the more he looked like a smiling fool.

"Table for Potter," Harry said to the concierge. "Seating at eight o'clock. I know I'm a little early."

The concierge smiled at him, somehow picking up on Harry's aura. Was his magic that telling? The young woman looked about ready to give in to every single one of the raven-haired wizard's requests. "If you'll wait here a moment; I'll just check to see if your table is ready."

Harry nodded once as he watched her disappear into the restaurant. He stood perfectly still, his eyes darting around out of habit. Sure, it may have been fifteen years since he'd uttered the spell that dropped Voldemort like the mortal man he was, but there would always be a part of Harry that always remained alert. He supposed it also had a little something to do with his Auror training.

His wife had hated that. When he'd mentioned to her that he was interested in joining the Academy, she'd all but let rip into him, pointing out all the things they'd had to do to keep him alive, and then he was just going to waltz into harm's way. Harry was all too happy to tell her that he was only going to _train_ to become an Auror, not actually work as one.

He'd still been barred from their bed that night, even if they hadn't actually been married yet.

The fact that they had waited so long to finally tie the knot was a hotly talked about topic in Wizarding Britain for quite some time. If anyone were really to get the truth out of the couple, they'd probably both admit that it was what felt right at the time. There was no rush. They'd survived a War, and they deserved to live happy, carefree lives. They deserved to do awfully cliche things that other people their age were so easily afforded.

Marriage could wait. And so could children.

Harry asked her to marry him - properly - shortly after his twenty-first birthday. He got down on one knee in her parents' living room and produced the most marvelous ring she'd ever seen. It wasn't even that it was huge or flashy; it was that it was perfect for _her_ , even boasting several emeralds. Like his eyes. He'd remembered. Of course, she said yes.

They were married the following year. It was a moderate wedding, held in the backyard of the house Harry purchased when he graduated from Hogwarts. He bought it with the future in mind. It was where he intended to grow a family. With her.

Always with her.

Their wedding could have been bigger. Goodness knows Mrs Weasley was hoping for something bigger, just so many more people would be able to taste her famous treacle tart. Both bride and groom vehemently refused. They knew what they wanted, and family and close friends were more important. Harry even barred the press from attending.

Now the press were always trying to get an interview with him and, this time, their questions were about his wife. Hah.

When the concierge returned, Harry was positively beaming. The young woman even stumbled a bit, thinking that the smile was meant for her. "Your table is ready, Mr Potter," she said. "Are you expecting anyone?"

Harry was only too eager to let her down gently. "I am. My wife."

The concierge managed to hide her disappointment by plastering on a wide smile. "Certainly. I will send her through when she arrives. If you'll just follow Norman here; he'll show you to your table."

Harry gave her one last smile before he followed Norman. The restaurant was rather fancy, and Harry wondered how his wife had found it. It wasn't as if they knew many people who would dine in Muggle London, bar her family. He made a mental note to ask her once she arrived.

"Can I interest you in some wine?" Norman asked Harry once the wizard was settled in his seat at a table in the centre of the large, dimly-lit room. "We have a large collection."

Harry spent a moment studying the menu before he ordered something red. His wife's favourite.

Harry conceded to studying the food menu while he waited. His wife was normally punctual so he knew it wouldn't be long before he laid eyes on her. He'd even go so far to say that he missed her. She hadn't been in bed when he woke up this morning, and he'd only spoken to her briefly when she called to make sure that he'd managed to get the kids to their various schools on time.

Didn't she know he was a _superdad_?

Harry was reading through the seafood dishes when he _sensed_ her arrival. It came from years of being around her magical signature, he surmised. Or maybe they were just so in love... he wouldn't know.

He turned his head towards the entrance and, indeed, there Hermione was, looking dressed to kill. His heart even skipped a beat as he stood up and watched her make her way towards him.

"You look amazing," he said, once she was near enough to hear. He softly kissed her cheek before pulling out her chair. "Hurry up and sit down before my wife gets here."

Hermione laughed lightly as she took a seat.

Harry put a hand on her shoulder and bent to kiss her cheek again, unable to resist. Then, smiling like the idiot he was, he returned to his own seat. "I ordered some wine. I hope that's all right. Perhaps we can toast with champagne later."

Hermione blushed at that. "We really don't have to do that, Harry."

"And why not?"

"Well, we already toasted last night at the Burrow," she pointed out. "Tonight is just you and me."

He smiled at her. "I bet you don't even want to talk about it at all, do you?"

She sighed. "I'm sorry. It's just I've had to deal with it all day. I swear I've been congratulated more times than I can even count. I kind of just want to get down to the work now. We've got so much to do, you and me, Mr Potter."

"We do."

Norman returned with their wine and proceeded to pour for both of them, allowing Hermione the time to study her own menu. Harry just watched her the entire time. He couldn't get over it, really. She was beautiful, and perfect, and _his_.

Hermione didn't even look up from her menu when she spoke. "Stop staring."

"I can't help it," he admitted. "I know I said I wouldn't talk about it, but how can you be so calm about this, Hermione?"

"I have to be," she said, finally looking at him. Then she grinned. "One of us has to be the grown-up in this relationship."

He laughed. "And you're suddenly deciding that that's you then, huh?"

"I've always been the more mature one."

"Well, you _are_ a cougar."

She groaned. "I get enough ribbing from my family, thank you very much."

"Speaking of your family, your father said that the match is actually on Sunday, not Saturday. We can still go, right?"

She smiled at him. "Are you asking me permission?"

"Well, you _are_ my boss now."

"This is true." She sipped at her wine. "Of course you can go. Just look after my son, okay? And make sure my father doesn't get too hammered. Even if your team does end up losing."

"Hey, don't jinx them," he retorted, faking annoyance. "It's because of you that they're having a bad season."

She shook her head. "Such children."

"Well, I _am_ younger than you."

She glared at him, and he just continued to smirk. Wow, he absolutely loved this woman.

"What do you think of the quail?" Harry offered, trying to diminish her glare.

She kept her eyes on him, though their intensity did drop. "I love you," she said.

"I know."

"And thank you for seeing to the kids today," she said, breathing out. "I know I said I was coming home early but things just happened and I just couldn't get away."

"It's okay," he assured her, smirking. "I get that you're all important now and what not, but you better not let it happen again."

She just laughed. "I think the quail sounds brilliant."

Before Harry could respond, a man was approaching them. Harry recognised him, but it didn't stop him from tensing. _This_ was why he had to remain on alert. Harry forced himself not to stand up as Auror Kenneth Abrahams come to a stop at their table.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," he said softly, not wanting to be overheard. "But there is a man wishing to see Mr Potter."

Harry frowned. "Excuse me?"

"A Muggle, Harry," Kenneth said, turning his attention to the very man who had trained him and eventually hand-picked him as one half of the duo hired to protect his wife. "By the name of Dudley Dursley."

Harry just blinked at the sound of the name, the world starting to spin. "What - what did you say?"

Hermione's eyes were on Harry, watching, waiting, seeing.

Kenneth looked a little cautious. "He intended to approach your table but we stopped him. He seems to know about the magical world, and he says that he knows you from before. Is this true? Shall I send him through?"

Harry looked at Hermione, seemingly too stunned to speak. "I," he tried and failed.

Hermione looked at Kenneth. "Do you think you could give us a moment, Ken?"

He bowed his head once. "Of course."

Hermione immediately reached for Harry's hand once they were alone. She squeezed it to get his attention. "Are you okay?"

He swallowed. "I was sure I would never see them again," he managed to say.

"And you don't have to," she offered. "Ken can just send him on his way, Harry. You never have to see him again."

"I think I want to," he admitted. "I mean, it's Dudley, not his father, right? In the end, he wasn't all bad. I sometimes think that he really did care."

Hermione studied his face for his true feelings on the matter. "Are you sure?"

Harry nodded. "It'll be fine." He turned his attention to Kenneth, who was waiting for a signal. At Harry's nod, he was ushering a rather perplexed Dudley and a woman accompanying him towards Harry and Hermione's table. The couple stood up as one and Hermione moved to stand at Harry's side.

"Harry," Dudley said, looking a bit disbelieving. "It _is_ you. Wow."

"Hey, Dud," Harry said, using his cousin's hated nickname. "You look well."

"As do you," Dudley said, his eyes unable to leave Harry's face. "Mum said that you died."

Harry swallowed. "I did, but then I came back to life."

The woman beside Dudley just looked utterly confused but Dudley wasn't saying anything to clear things up just yet.

"You won the War?" Dudley asked.

"We did."

That was the moment Dudley's gaze drifted to Hermione. Harry took the cue to introduce her.

"Uh, Dud, this my wife, Hermione. Hermione, you know Dudley."

Hermione didn't put her hand out, rather choosing to step closer to Harry. "I do."

Dudley swallowed. "Umm," he gestured to the woman at his side. "This is Jessica. We just got engaged, actually."

"Congratulations," Harry and Hermione said at the same time.

Dudley blinked. "Umm, Jess, this is Harry, my umm..."

"An old friend," Harry said quickly. "But we haven't seen each other in quite some time. What have you been up to?"

Dudley breathed. "Been working as a quality surveyor," he said. "Not very exciting, but it's good pay. How about you?"

Well, that was definitely a loaded question. Harry Potter was not a man who had a defined job, though he carried many titles. "I've done quite a few things," he admitted. "But I mainly train new officers at the Academy." Harry looked at Jessica.

Dudley took the cue. "Jess is a dentist's assistant," he said, though his voice came out softer than normal.

Harry was embarrassed for Jessica that Dudley seemed embarrassed, though he said nothing on the matter. He looked at Hermione, who seemed to pick up on it as well. Perhaps it was best not to divulge her new position. Like her husband, Hermione did a lot of things, and even held many titles to boot. Though, the most important to her was Mrs Potter, wife to Harry Potter, and mother of his children.

Hermione made the decision herself. "I admire working women these days," she said, her eyes settling on Jessica. "My job title is just a flurry of modifications of the word Mum."

Jessica seemed to relax at the sound of that. "Oh, you have kids? That's lovely! How many?"

Harry and Hermione exchanged a look. Then Harry grinned. "Honestly, we lost count after the second one, didn't we?"

Hermione smacked his arm. "We have four," she said. "Three boys and a girl."

"Are they quite the handful?" Jessica asked.

"You could say that," Hermione said. It wasn't lost on any of them that Hermione was paying Dudley absolutely no mind. She wouldn't even look at him and Harry found that he loved her just a little bit more because of it.

"Is this a night off from the kids then? Date night?" Jessica asked Hermione.

"Indeed it is. You two as well?"

Jessica shook her head. "We're celebrating the engagement," she said. "We're actually expecting both our parents." She looked at Dudley. "Honey, don't you think that they should be here by now?"

Dudley said nothing as he watched Harry, who turned deathly pale at the mention of his aunt and uncle coming to this very restaurant.

Hermione took hold of Harry's hand, trying to breathe life into him.

Harry just blinked. "They're coming - here?" he forced out, his voice catching.

Dudley nodded.

Harry's breathing changed and, for the first time in more than sixteen years, Hermione saw that same fear in his eyes again. This man that she loved with every fibre of her being was suddenly that poor, beaten and lost teenage boy.

Hermione looked at Dudley for the first time. "Keep him away from us," she hissed.

Dudley just nodded, not needing to ask any questions. "I'm sorry, Harry," he said sadly. "I really am." And then he was walking away, leading a very confused Jessica away with him.

Hermione looked at Harry's face. "We can go. We should go. Let's go."

"No," he said. "We're supposed to be celebrating."

"So?" she said hotly. "We can celebrate somewhere else. I don't want to sit in here with those people any more than you do."

"Hermione."

"Harry."

"I thought it was over," he said softly, pulling her closer to him, even as they stood in the middle of the restaurant. "I thought I was past it. It's always going to be a part of me, isn't it?"

She nodded. "It's a part of what makes you who you are, Harry. You're you _because_ of what they did to you. You're you _in spite_ of what they did to you."

Harry squeezed her hand. "Would you really be okay with it if we left?"

"Of course."

"I'm sorry."

"Please don't be," she said. "We're doing them a favour, really, because I don't think I could have contained myself if I were to see them. I would have hexed them into oblivion, and gone down as the shortest tenure in office in Wizarding History."

Harry laughed at that, as he managed to get a hold of Norman's attention.

"Listen, Norman," Harry said. "I'm not feeling so well, so we think we're just going to take off. Do you think you could organise the bill for us?"

Norman looked worried for a moment, before he nodded and rushed off.

"You'll give him a suitable tip, won't you?" Hermione asked, staring after the young waiter.

"On my meagre salary, I don't think I could afford it."

"Is that your not-so-subtle way of asking for a raise, Mr Potter?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It's just that I work so hard, and I just try and I try, and you don't even seem to notice," he said, pouting. "I deserve to be seen. I deserve the recognition."

She shook her head. "You're too good at this," she mumbled.

"Good at what?"

She leaned into him, her head resting on his shoulder. "Making me want you."

A shiver shot straight up Harry's spine and he smiled foolishly. Ten years of marriage and all it took was one sentence from those perfect lips and he was a teenager all over again, aching for her. "Wow, you really are mean, aren't you?" he asked, kissing the top of her head. "We should definitely go," he rushed. "I think it's the greatest idea you've ever had."

Hermione laughed at his antics, her perfect smile causing Norman to stare at her as he approached with the bill.

Honestly, Harry didn't blame the young man. His Hermione had always been beautiful, but she developed pure grace as she grew older, and now her beauty was found in the way she carried herself, not only in her physical appearance.

Harry made quick work of settling the bill, leaving a generous tip. "Shall we?" he offered, and Hermione's grip transferred from his hand to his arm. Harry chanced a glance Kenneth's way, and the Auror nodded back.

Harry led the way towards the exit, and the concierge looked particularly stricken when she saw him.

"Mr Potter, leaving so soon?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the young woman. She'd had to beat off too many girls during their sixth year at Hogwarts; she could probably take on another one. Harry made sure she didn't have to.

"I'm just a little eager to get back to our bedroom," he said, giving the young woman a cheeky grin, even winking for good measure.

Hermione blushed so furiously that she had to hide her face against Harry's back.

"Come on, babe," Harry said, moving towards the door.

Hermione wasn't looking where they were going so she was surprised when Harry suddenly stopped, and she walked right into him. "Harry," she breathed. She looked at him, and then she looked where he was looking, and she too froze.

"You," Harry said.

In the doorway, hand still on the handle, stood Vernon Dursley. "You," the much older man said, his eyes narrowing.

"Harry, let's go," Hermione whispered to her husband.

"He's standing in the doorway," he said coldly.

Vernon did not move. Harry couldn't tell if it was out of shock or something else. He didn't really care. The man had better not make a scene.

"Move out of the doorway," Harry said, his eyes burning with unspent anger.

"What are you doing here?" Vernon asked.

He couldn't resist. "Oh, we were invited to the engagement party. Didn't Dudley tell you?" Harry found himself saying, his tone so sarcastic that it could leave a mark.

Vernon glared at him.

"Now get out of the fucking doorway!" Harry hissed.

Kenneth came up on his left. "Is everything all right here?"

Harry didn't even know how to respond to that question.

Hermione addressed Kenneth. "We're trying to leave but this man is refusing to move," she said calmly, remaining hidden behind Harry. She did not want to see the people who made her Harry's childhood unbearable. There was no telling what she would do if pushed over the edge. She'd even called her Headmaster stupid at some point.

Kenneth turned his attention to Vernon, and began with a rather courteous request, which very quickly turned hostile. Hermione was made oddly aware of the fact that Harry was trembling, probably caught in memories of his own dismal childhood at the hands of that man.

Kenneth practically had to push Vernon back and out of the restaurant, as they had drawn quite an audience. Vernon stumbled slightly and Petunia squeaked when he trod on her toe. Harry took very little satisfaction from that as he led Hermione out of the restaurant, trailed by her other Auror protection, Elizabeth Smith.

Harry arrived at the valet and immediately handed over his ticket, the scowl of his uncle in his periphery.

"I sometimes wish we could show him how successful you are," Hermione said, gripping his arm quite tightly. "I want them to know that you've found happiness despite them; that they didn't ruin you."

"It's not even worth it, Hermione," he said. "Men like him, women like her; they only see what they want to see. They'd probably claim that they _made_ me; that my success is theirs."

"Which it isn't. It's yours."

"It's ours."

When their car arrived, Harry opened the passenger's side door for Hermione. Before he headed to the driver's side, he chanced a look at his aunt and uncle, who were actually staring at the car Harry was driving. In fact, they were openly gaping at it. Just one of the many luxuries he and his wonderful family could afford.

Harry even grinned rather smugly. "Fuck yeah," he said, bobbing his head. And then he practically skipped around the car and climbed in. He put on his seatbelt and then let out a long breath. "Quite the evening, huh?"

She nodded. Then, without even bothering to look around to see if they were being watched, she reached for the front of Harry's shirt and tugged on it, pulling him into a quick but lingering kiss. When she pulled away, she was smiling. "What do you think Ken and Liz would say to my abuse of power?"

Harry straightened his shirt. "The woman still thinks she can just kiss me whenever she wants," he huffed.

"Let's go home."

Harry hesitated.

She read his hesitation for what it was. "I want to see them as well," she admitted.

Harry looked at her, asking the question with his eyes.

"Let's go and fetch our children."

Harry didn't have to be told twice as he shifted the car into gear and took off, leaving the horrible events of the night behind. Harry liked to drive fast. Hermione complained about it almost constantly, but tonight was an exception. Truthfully, she didn't know where his love of fast driving even came from. When she'd taught him to drive the summer after their sixth year at Hogwarts, he hadn't been such a speed demon. And now...?

Nevertheless, they were in Oxfordshire in next to no time. Hermione had called ahead, so her parents weren't surprised when their daughter and son-in-law arrived, dressed like they'd just arrived from Buckingham Palace.

When Jane mentioned that, Hermione pointed out that she did have a meeting scheduled with the Royal Family and the Prime Minister the following week. The newest Minister for Magic had great plans for Wizarding Britain. And with her husband as Chief Warlock, she would be leading them to a better and more accepting Wizarding World.

Her work until her election had been paramount. It had been trying a lot of the time and she used the Potter name quite significantly. Harry practically forced her into it, stating that the bigots wouldn't listen if she didn't. It really was about who you knew. She may have started out behind the Potter name, but there was now a very distinct, notable and elaborate difference between Harry Potter and Hermione Potter. Minister Hermione Potter. One of the youngest ever, female, _and_ Muggleborn!

Damn.

From now on, Harry would be introduced as _her_ husband; not the other way around, and Harry much preferred it that way.

"Are the kids asleep?" Harry asked his mother-in-law.

The guilty look Jane gave him was enough for Harry.

He just chuckled. "Are they upstairs with Michael?"

Jane nodded.

Harry kissed his wife's cheek. "I'll get them."

Once he was gone, Jane rounded on her daughter. "Sweetheart, I thought the two of you were going to celebrate the night away?"

"We were," Hermione admitted. "There was an incident at the restaurant, to do with his relatives. I suppose, we just really wanted to see the kids. We'll celebrate another night."

Jane looked worried. "But you're okay? He's okay?"

"I think so," Hermione said thoughtfully. "I'll keep an eye on him. For now, we can distract ourselves with chatterbox know-it-alls and screaming toddlers."

Jane laughed. "I don't know how the two of you do it," she said, sighing. "It's only been a few hours, and your father and I are utterly exhausted. How do you keep up with them? I mean, there are four of them!"

Hermione smiled. "I think I know how many children I have," she said. "And you know as well as I do that we definitely weren't expecting to end up with a set of twin boys."

"Still. It's hard work." She laughed. "Even just the one of you gave me a headache."

"Oh, thanks, Mum," she muttered, smiling at her mother. "Thank you for agreeing to take them for the night though. We were thinking that maybe, next time, to make it easier, we should separate the kids among the grandparents. Molly and Arthur can take the older two, and you can have the twins. How does that sound?"

Jane shook her head. "I want them all."

"If you say so."

Before Jane could respond, their attention was drawn towards giggling coming from the stairs. Harry was descending, with their oldest child swung over one shoulder, a diaper bag over the other and one twin tucked into the crook of his one arm. He was smiling widely as he held their oldest son in a death grip. Alexander James - named after her grandfather and Harry's father - was protesting quite loudly but he was laughing more than anything.

Hermione wasn't even worried that Harry would drop either child. Despite his amazing Seeker reflexes, he'd developed quite a repertoire for wandless magic in the past years, and their kids would be caught before they ever hit the ground.

Behind Harry was Michael, holding another twin in one of his arms, and leading their only daughter down the stairs by the hand. She was already in her pyjamas, subconsciously rubbing her eyes of sleep.

"I thought you said they weren't sleeping," Hermione whispered to her mother.

"They weren't," Jane assured her. "But Charlotte did start yawning a little earlier."

Hermione sighed. "We're terrible parents."

Harry came to a stop at the women. "Say hi to Mummy," he said, turning around so Hermione could see her son's face.

Alex lifted his head to give his mother a toothy grin. "Hi," he said loudly.

Hermione grabbed his head and placed a sloppy kiss on his cheek, making him squeal. "Hi, big boy!"

Harry looked over his shoulder. "I'll get them in the car. Say bye to your nan."

While Alex was saying goodbye to Jane, Hermione just managed to catch sight of Charlotte Lily - named in honour of Harry's mother - before the little girl was flying into her arms. Hermione picked her up and held her close.

"Well, hello, you," Hermione said.

"You look pretty, Mama," Charlotte said, kissing her mother's cheek.

"Thank you, Sweetie."

The farewell was quick, and then Harry was getting the children in the car while Jane and Hermione stood and watched in a mixture of amusement and admiration.

"I was always worried," Jane said to Hermione. "I didn't think you would find someone who could love you for you."

Hermione just stared at her mother, her eyes widening in her obvious shock.

Jane smiled. "I don't mean it in a bad way, Hermione, but even you have to admit that you can be a lot to deal with."

"Thanks, Mum," she huffed.

"I was worried that whoever you chose to love would want you to change who you are, but that hasn't happened with Harry," she said. "I think you've found a good one in him, Hermione."

"Which you say after we've been married for ten years."

"And I mean it. Marriage is different and can be difficult at times, but you've both stayed true to who you are as individuals and as a couple. As your mother, it's always been a worry of mine that you wouldn't end up happy in life and love."

"But I am."

"I know," Jane said, her eyes flicking towards Harry, who was pulling funny faces at the twins, trying to get them to laugh. "I know."

Once Harry had the children settled in the car, whose interior he'd had to magically enlarge, he turned his attention to Hermione. "Ready to go, babe?"

Hermione's nostrils flared. "I swear I want to kill him sometimes."

Harry waved at Jane before he climbed into the driver's seat and humoured both Alex and Charlotte, who seemed all too excited to be in the presence of _both_ their parents. Things had been a little hectic since the election that would forever go down in Wizarding History had come to a close, Hermione winning by a substantial amount.

Harry didn't drive as fast with the children in the car. Hermione didn't make comments on that. Even so, they were at home before she knew it, their children seemingly finding endless stories to tell them. How much could have happened between the last time they'd seen them and now?

The twins were asleep when they arrived at home, and Harry carried them both up to their bedroom while Hermione took care of Alex and Charlotte. In the fifteen months since they had doubled their children count, the couple had developed an efficient system. It wasn't anything that they consciously spoke about, but something that they came to in mutual silence.

It really didn't help that their youngest - by twelve minutes - Nicholas Sirius, woke up as soon as Harry set him down. It took almost ten minutes to get him quiet. And then it was Samuel Remus' turn to turn fussy. Harry had to know that these two would prove to be troublesome, and he doubted it had much to do with the Marauder blood swimming through their veins.

In the end, it was half an hour before he made it to the master bedroom. He could tell that Hermione had been in already, with her heels neatly placed beside her dresser and her green dress hanging in her cupboard. Perhaps she was having more trouble with their oldest two.

Harry almost laughed at that as he started to undress. He grabbed a pair of pyjama bottoms and an old Quidditch t-shirt before he disappeared into the bathroom. Harry might have been only thirty two years old, but he felt like he'd lived a mightily long life. Especially after tonight. Seeing his relatives had brought up things he'd desperately tried to work through but actually ended up suppressing.

Hermione didn't know that. Neither did Harry's therapist.

Harry wouldn't even know how to bring it up at this stage of their lives. The thing was that he _was_ happy. He had a wonderful family, a great job, great friends, and yet... some part of him always felt that someone, somewhere, would come and take it all away from him. Like it was all some sick prank, as if they would say ' _did you really think you of all people would get to live happily ever after_?'

Harry took his time in the bathroom, even though he knew that Hermione tended to get antsy when there was silence to be heard behind the closed door. Even after all these years, she was still haunted by what they'd gone through to get to this decent life. He kept the water running in the sink to keep her calm, if she did return to the bedroom.

Harry just wasn't ready to leave the confines of the bathroom. Absently, he sat down on the floor by the bathtub and brought his knees up to his chest, clutching at them and starting to rock. He closed his eyes and focused on all the good.

In the end, they'd won the War. They'd won! Hermione was here, with him. They'd kept each other alive, safe and happy. They'd _won_ in the end. She stayed with him, through it all; through all the pain, and through that haunting Prophecy. Harry had died, and Hermione had seen his dead body. She'd felt what it was like to lose him.

And then he'd lived. And vanquished the Dark Lord.

And for five months after, Hermione hadn't let him out of her sight. Not once.

For the most part, Harry hadn't really minded. But it had to stop at some point and, when it did, Hermione had stormed out and not returned for four excruciating days. Harry had spent a lot of those days locked away in a bathroom, right in this very position.

 _Snap out of it, Potter_. _Hermione is out there, waiting for you._

Harry got to his feet. He finished getting changed and brushed his teeth. Then, taking deep, calming breaths; he left the bathroom to find his wife already in bed. She was sitting up against the pillows, a book in her lap, but she wasn't reading. Harry noted that she had a strange look on her face.

"Hermione?" he asked cautiously.

Her gaze drifted down to the bed where there were several human-sized lumps under the duvet.

Harry just nodded his understanding, a smile automatically spreading across his face. "I finally got the twins down," Harry said, walking around the bed and removing his wristwatch to set it down on the dresser. "I still think that they need to be separated. They work together, I'm telling you. They need their own rooms."

"Harry, we are not separating them."

He sighed. "Because you've just said means that you get first call when they start with their crying."

She glared at him. "Fine."

"And you?" he asked. "How was getting the rascals to bed?"

There was a notable giggle to be heard, that Harry just couldn't ignore.

"What was that?" Harry asked quickly. "Did you hear that?"

Hermione was smiling. "What? I didn't hear anything. What are you talking about?"

"That sound, didn't you hear it? When I mentioned the rascals -" another giggle "- there it is again!" Harry returned to his side of the bed. "Are you sure you can't hear it?" he asked Hermione. "It sounds like it's coming from the bed."

"Are you sure you're not imagining it?"

Harry shook his head. "No, definitely not." Harry climbed onto the bed, making sure to place his hands anywhere but on the lumps under the duvet. "It's coming from the bed, Hermione. It must be some form of infestation."

There was some more giggling and Harry shifted the duvet out of the way to reveal a small foot.

"What's this?" he asked. "Hermione, what is this foreign object?" Harry lifted the foot up and received a wild giggle.

Harry made a move to bite the foot, but there was a squeal and then a timid, "Daddy."

Harry just laughed as he rested more of his weight on the lumps and they desperately tried to wriggle out from under him. "Daddy! Daddy!"

Alex and Charlotte squirmed out from under the duvet and crawled towards their mother, seeking solace in her arms.

"Found the source of the noise," Harry informed his wife. "Our little rascals have infested our bed." He rolled onto his side and brought his feet up to get under the duvet. The bed was big enough that his wife and children were easily a metre away from him, and Harry shifted closer. "Tell me exactly why you're in our bed," Harry said.

"Mummy is supposed to read us a story," Alex replied. There was an undeniable twinkle in his eye that Harry desperately wished he wouldn't lose. It was naive, he knew, because his seven-year-old still had so much life to live; but a father could only hope, couldn't he?

"Is that so?" Harry asked, his eyes drifting to Hermione.

She shrugged, silently telling him that there was no other way to get them to even consider going to sleep without a bedtime story.

"Okay then," Harry gave in. "Get comfortable. What are we reading?"

"What else?" Charlotte asked, as if Harry had asked the stupidest question in the world.

Harry knew that his daughter was going to prove to be a handful. Even at the age of five, she was a spitfire. Kind of how he imagined his mother was.

Alex and Charlotte moved across the bed and used their father as a pillow as Hermione got into position. Harry Summoned Alex and Charlotte's duvets from their beds so they would be comfortable and warm.

Hermione cleared her throat and proceeded to read aloud the story that everyone present already knew by heart. The children, mainly because they had heard it countless times, and Harry, because he had been there when Hermione had written it. It was just one of many in the series lovingly referred to as 'The Tales of Neville the Wizard.' She'd wanted to pay homage to their fallen friend, and she'd accomplished it and then some. Wizarding children would be reading about the many exploits of Neville the Wizard for many years to come.

Hermione barely looked up as she read, the illustrations taking her down memory lane. Harry had to tap her to get her to stop.

"They're asleep," he whispered.

Indeed they were. Alex had rolled over and was using Harry's shins as a pillow while Charlotte was at his thighs, curled up into a tight ball.

"I'm sorry," Hermione whispered. "I got lost for a bit."

"I miss him too."

"He saved my life, Harry," she said, her eyes tearing up.

"I would come to you," he said, desperately wanting to hold her; "but I'm currently a human pillow."

She laughed lightly. "I'll come to you." Hermione shuffled across the bed and moved into his waiting arms. "Thank you, Harry."

"For what?"

"For my family."

"I should be thanking you," he whispered. "I mean, look at us, Hermione. We're like a real married couple with children and jobs and it's everything I've ever dreamed it would be."

"How domestic are we?"

Harry placed a kiss against her forehead, drawing her closer but making sure that they didn't jostle their sleeping children. "I love you."

Before Hermione could reply, they heard the distinct sound of a toddler's crying.

Harry groaned. "It's your turn."

"I know." She sat up slightly and took the time to kiss his forehead. "I'll be right back."

Harry watched her roll out of bed. He couldn't get over how beautiful she was, even when she was just walking. He kept his eyes on her as she disappeared from the room, leaving him with the soft sounds of his children's breathing. This was his life now, and it was wonderful.

He had countless people to thank for it. Hermione was at the top of the list, but Neville was definitely up high as well. Harry reached for the book Hermione had written and stared at the front cover. Neville had saved Hermione's life. In the final Battle, he'd saved her by sacrificing himself, and Harry would never forget. Which was why he would hold onto her so tightly for the rest of his life. She assured him that she wouldn't break. He was still putting it to the test.

When Hermione returned, she was carrying both Nick and Sam in her arms, both boys with eyes wide and looking painfully alert.

"No," Harry said, shaking his head. "No ways."

Hermione just chuckled as she set them both down on the bed near Harry's chest, and climbed back under the covers, creating a barricade with her body.

"Dada," Nick said, attempting to stand on the duvet and not accomplishing it. He landed hard on his bottom and giggled.

Harry looked at Hermione. "Still want to tell me they shouldn't have their own rooms?"

"Shut up."

Harry's attention was caught by a flailing hand that smacked him across his glasses. "Thank you, Sam," he muttered, straightening his spectacles.

It was another twenty minutes before both boys were asleep, Nick splayed across Harry's chest and Sam tucked into the crook of his arm.

Hermione found it all quite amusing. "It makes me happy," she said, eyeing him thoughtfully. "I need a picture."

Harry watched her go again. When she got back, she had her camera with her. Without warning, she snapped a few pictures of him, eager to add to her collection of family photographs.

"Ah, he's drooling on me," Harry said, his voice low.

Hermione just laughed as she set the camera aside and climbed back into bed. She shifted as close as she could without disrupting the harmony of their sleeping children.

"I'm telling you, Hermione; we're separating them," he said again. "And I think my arm is going numb."

"Are you complaining?"

He grinned at her. "Never."

She ran a hand through his hair. "Go to sleep, Harry."

"Goodnight, Hermione."

"Goodnight, Harry."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

Harry closed his eyes but he didn't fall asleep. He couldn't. It was quite some time before he heard the change in Hermione's breathing. Once he was certain she was asleep, Harry still waited another half hour. Then, slowly, carefully, he extricated himself from his pillow-position. Harry managed to get off the bed without waking anyone up. He cast several wards to stop any of the children from rolling off the bed and then he left the bedroom.

Harry made his way to his study, which was just off of the second floor library. He turned on the light and moved towards the bookcase behind his large desk. He hesitated before he revealed a secret compartment, from which he pulled out a chest. He carried it to his desk and sat down in his chair.

Harry didn't open the chest immediately. He hadn't even brought it out in years, and he wondered why he was doing it now.

Well, he knew, but he didn't want to know.

Harry opened the chest and he smiled. The familiar smell hit him like a bludger to the face and he had to sit back to calm his racing heart.

Hermione's letters.

Harry took a breath before he started to sift through them, searching for one in particular. When he found it, he pulled it out but did not read it. He pushed the chest aside and placed the letter right in front of him.

Harry didn't know how long he sat there, but he didn't actually get to read the letter because Hermione appeared in the open doorway, somehow looking majestic. Somehow, Harry wasn't even surprised that she was there. A part of him had to know she would come.

Silently, she moved into the office, walked around his desk, turned his chair and slipped into his lap. Her arms immediately snaked around his neck. "Talk to me, Mr Potter."

Harry waited a beat before he spoke. "Do you ever have any regrets?" he asked.

"About?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "Me? Life?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "Sometimes, I suppose I think about things and how they could have happened differently, but it is really what Ron always says. Things that are meant to happen generally find a way of happening. Any one of us could have done any one thing different and things could have changed. So, really, no, I don't have regrets. Especially not about you."

"It's surprising that he got all philosophical even before he married Luna, isn't it?"

Hermione just smiled, letting him know that she recognised his deflection and she wasn't about to accept it.

Harry let out a long breath. "I sometimes feel like I'm more trouble than I'm worth."

Hermione hugged him close, bringing her mouth to his ear. "Sometimes you are."

Harry laughed.

Hermione pulled back to look at him. "I told you that you're _my_ trouble," she told him strongly. She gestured towards the letter. "You don't need that anymore, Harry. I'm not in Oxfordshire, or in Norwich. I'm right here, with you. Living this happiest of lives."

"Yes you are."

"You don't need any of those letters," she repeated. "Anything you want to hear, I'll tell you, okay?"

He nodded. "I hear you, Minister Potter."

She kissed his cheek, her fingers running through his hair.

He raised an eyebrow suggestively. "Or do you prefer _Professor Granger_?"

"What am I ever going to do with you?"

"Never let me go."

Hermione hugged him tight again. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Harry sighed. "We were supposed to be celebrating tonight, you know?"

"Well, we _do_ have four kids in our bed," she said. "Just what did you think was going to happen?"

He laughed. "We have four kids, Hermione."

"Five actually."

Harry nodded, falling even more in love with her in this very moment. He didn't think there was another woman in this world who could have accepted Teddy and the role Harry played in the teenager's life quite like Hermione.

Hermione turned her attention back to the letter. "Why that specific one?" she asked.

Harry also looked at the letter. "See for yourself."

Hermione didn't hesitate as she turned in his lap and retrieved the letter. She read it quickly, absently smiling at her younger self. Once she set it down, she turned to look at Harry. "Wow, I was determined."

"I knew you always wanted me," he teased.

"It's true."

Harry held her waist tighter, drawing her close.

Hermione's arms snaked around his neck once more. "I told you that I would tell you what you needed to hear every day, Harry Potter," she said, remembering the words from her letter. "I've always wanted this." She kissed him deeply, conveying so much in that one action that Harry's heart stopped for a moment. This really _was_ what he needed to hear.

This woman was a genius.

Hermione brought her voice down to a whisper, as if she were telling him a secret. "I want it all. I've always wanted it. _You_ , Harry, and everything that comes with you, the good and the bad, the big and the all the small things."

 _Fin_


End file.
